Touya Todoroki / Dabi X Reader
Touya Todoroki / Dabi x reader
Summary: As you pick Touya up from rehab, you reflect on how you got here
WARNING: hurt/ barely comfort. It’s a Dabi fanfic so prepare for rude behaviour and a lot of self deprecation on his part.
word count : 9734
FOLLOW ME AND GIVE ME SOME IDEAS!!
RUN BOY RUN - Woodkid
₍^. .^₎⟆ You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front doors of the rehab center like they might explode. The car hums softly beneath you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting. Thinking.
It’s been weeks since you last saw Touya. Weeks of wondering if he’d actually stay. Weeks of resisting the urge to show up just to check.
And now, finally, here he comes.
The doors push open, and there he is, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His hair’s a mess, probably hasn’t touched a comb in days and his scars catch the sunlight in a way that makes them stand out even more. He looks tired, in a way that’s more than just physical. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still him.
The second he spots you, he stops. Just stands there, staring, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually be here.
You push open the car door and step out before he can overthink it. “Hey,” you say, keeping it easy.
Touya scoffs, tilting his head. “Hey.” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much.
You take him in, scanning for any sign of what? A breakthrough? A relapse? Hell if you know. He just looks… different. Not better, necessarily. But different.
“How was it?” you ask.
Touya rolls his eyes. “Awful.” Classic. “Same boring speeches, same awkward group sessions. Food was shit.”
You smirk. “No shock there.”
He exhales sharply, something like amusement, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.
“But you stayed,” you say, watching him closely.
Something flickers across his face quick, almost undetectable. He looks away, shifting his weight. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I did.”
For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s not awkward, just… heavy. The weight of everything unsaid sits between you, pressing at the edges. You had spent weeks wondering if he’d bail, if you’d get some shitty phone call, if you’d ever see him again. And now he’s here. Whole.
Touya clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the car. “You just gonna make me stand here, or what?”
You blink, shaking off your thoughts. “Right.” You open the passenger door. “Get in.”
He hesitates for half a second before slumping into the seat with a quiet sigh. As you settle into the driver’s side, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring out the window, absently picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve.
You grip the wheel. “You hungry?”
Touya snorts. “Depends. You taking me somewhere that serves actual food?”
“Yeah, yeah. No more rehab cafeteria mystery meat, I swear.”
For the first time, he smirks just barely, but it’s there. Then, after a beat, he mutters, “…Thanks for picking me up.”
Something tightens in your chest, but it’s not worry this time.
“Yeah yeah,” you say, pulling out of the parking lot. “now don’t get emotional on me.”
Touya leans his head against the window, exhaling as the car rolls forward, the sun sinking lower in the sky. And for now, that’s enough.
—-
When you met him, no one could have guessed that he’d be in your car sharing an intimate bond to intimate so fast.
The first time you and Dabi met, he tried to kill you.
No, really he actually tried. None of that lazy, half-assed, villain posturing. He sent a fucking wall of blue fire straight at you, no warning, no witty one liner. And when you barely managed to dodge, he clicked his tongue like he was annoyed you had the audacity to survive.
“Should’ve just stood still,” he’d said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and boredom. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”
“You always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?” you shot back, already bracing for the next attack.
Dabi had smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”
That was how it started.
And somehow, for reasons neither of you ever addressed, your run-ins turned into something else. You fought, sure. But over time, it stopped feeling like an actual battle and more like… a routine. A bad habit. A game. He never went for the kill. You never hit him hard enough to stop him. And when the fights ended, more often than not, you’d end up talking.
Which led to nights like this.
Tonight, it was an abandoned lot. He’d set some shit on fire, you’d put it out, and now he was perched on the edge of a rusted-out shipping container, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.
“You’re getting slow,” he remarked, exhaling a curl of smoke.
You shot him a look as you stomped out the last few embers. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”
Dabi snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You climbed up onto the container, ignoring the way he barely shifted to make room for you. He always did that sat like he dared you to invade his space, then acted all put out when you actually did.
“Real ambitious arson job tonight,” you muttered, stretching out your legs. “You only half-commit to everything, or just crime?”
Dabi flicked ash in your direction. “Like you’re one to talk. You had at least three chances to stop me, and you didn’t.” He shot you a sideways glance, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to think you like having me around.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because listening to you bitch and moan is so much fun.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” he said, lazily tapping ash off the side. “Can’t have you getting soft. If anything i’m helping a little girl become a hero”
You scoffed but didn’t argue. And that was the thing this was normal now. Fighting, bickering, sitting around after like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to be enemies.
Maybe that’s why you started noticing things.
Like how he leaned against walls like his legs were seconds from giving out. Or how his hands shook just a little when he smoked, like the heat didn’t quite reach all the way through him. Or how, no matter how sharp his smirk was, his eyes never quite matched.
And because you were a fucking idiot, you started caring.
Which is why, after another long, pointless fight, you threw a water bottle at him.
Dabi caught it, glaring. “The hell is this?”
“Hydration, dipshit,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Y’know, because you’re a walking pile of burnt kindling, and I’d rather not have you passing out mid fight.”
He stared at the bottle like it had personally offended him. Then at you. Then back at the bottle.
“You do realize I hate you, right?” he deadpanned.
“Uh-huh. Drink the damn water, Dabi.”
His jaw tightened, fingers flexing like he was debating throwing it at your head.
Instead, he cracked the cap open, took a slow sip, and never broke eye contact.
“…You’re fucking annoying,” he muttered.
You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”
He exhaled sharply, flicked his cigarette away, and leaned back against the wall. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Just sat there, eyes flickering toward the skyline, quiet for once.
Not as a villain. Not as a hero.
Just as a guy too stubborn to admit he might not hate the company and just maybe a guy learning people can care for him.
Though it didn’t stop there, meetings became a lot more frequent.
“You stalking me, hero?”
Dabi didn’t even bother looking at you as you landed on the rooftop beside him. Just flicked his cigarette, barely missing your foot, and leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world.
You sighed. “You just torched a building. Kinda my job to show up.”
“Yeah? And yet, here you are not doing shit about it.” He smirked, finally turning to you. “Shouldn’t you be slapping cuffs on me or whatever the fuck it is heroes do?”
You rolled your eyes. “Like you’d let me.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t.” He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl between his fingers before he flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof. “And we both know you don’t have the balls to try though you might like the cuffs on you.”
You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue not wanting to entertain whatever thoughts he’s trying to imply, which only made his smirk widen. “That’s what I thought.”
“You always this fucking insufferable, or is it just for me?”
Dabi gave you a slow, lazy once-over, tilting his head. “I save my worst for special people.”
“Wow. Flattered.”
“You should be.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “Not everyone gets to be my personal waste of time.”
You crossed your arms. “You say that, and yet, you’re the one still talking to me.”
Dabi chuckled low, rough, full of something mean. “Yeah. Guess I like watching you squirm.”
—-
You hit the ground hard, barely rolling in time to avoid getting fried. The pavement still sizzled from Dabi’s flames, burning through your sleeves as you pushed yourself up.
Dabi, still standing like he didn’t just try to incinerate you, gave you the most unimpressed look of all time. “That was pathetic.”
You spat blood onto the ground, glaring up at him. “You hit like a bitch.”
Dabi actually laughed at that, crouching just enough to get in your face. “You wish I hit like a bitch.” His fingers twitched, heat curling around them. “We both know I could turn you to fucking ash if I wanted to.”
You swallowed hard but held his gaze. “Then why don’t you?”
He tilted his head, watching you like a cat watching a half dead mouse. Then his grin stretched slow and sharp.
“‘Cause I like this,” he murmured. “Watching you scrape yourself off the ground. Watching you try so fucking hard to be something.” He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping to something almost amused. “It’s entertaining.”
Your fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know that?”
Dabi smirked. “Yeah. And?”
You shoved yourself up, ignoring how your legs ached. “One day, I’m gonna put you down for good.”
His grin widened like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, please do.”
——
Dabi was sitting on the curb like he had just clocked out of a long shift at his 9-to-5 arson job. Arms draped over his knees, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his fingers, and an expression so profoundly bored that you had to take a second to process the absolute wreckage behind him.
The alley looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks everywhere, trash melted into unrecognizable blobs, and some guy still smoking from the flames. He was groaning, which was good it meant he was alive. But considering how crispy he looked, he probably wasn’t gonna be winning any beauty pageants soon.
You let out a long, suffering sigh. “Dabi.”
Dabi tilted his head back lazily to look at you. Then he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Oh. You.”
You planted your hands on your hips, giving him the best I am so fucking tired look you could muster. “What the fuck happened this time?”
Dabi gave you a slow blink, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He waved a vague hand at the destruction behind him. “I had a bad night.”
You threw up your hands. “And what, this was your therapy session? You scorched a guy!”
Dabi sighed dramatically, rolling his neck. “And yet, he’s still breathing. How ‘bout that?”
You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You have to stop causing problems for fun.”
He snorted. “Wrong. The problems cause me for fun.”
You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Did you read that off a bumper sticker?”
Dabi smirked. “Nah. Came up with it just now. Pretty good, huh?”
You ignored that. “Did it ever occur to you to just… I don’t know, go home and watch TV like a normal person?”
“I am watching something,” Dabi said, grinning. “You. Losing your goddamn mind.”
You let out a slow, deep breath, resisting the urge to punt him into the nearest dumpster.
Then Dabi rested his chin on his palm, gaze flicking over you. “And yet, here you are. Again.”
You squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirked. “If I had a dollar for every time you showed up to stop me but didn’t actually stop me, I’d be able to afford the therapy that daddy dearest never gave me.”
You jabbed a finger at him. “Listen here, you little shit—”
“I mean, really,” he went on, like you hadn’t spoken. “You could be off doing hero stuff. Arresting actual villains. Filing paperwork. Touching grass. But nah. Instead, you’re here. With me.” His smirk widened. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”
Your fingers twitched. So help me God, you thought, if I don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, I am actually going to commit a crime.
You inhaled sharply through your nose, turned on your heel, and started walking.
“You’re not worth the effort.”
Dabi chuckled behind you, lazy and full of smug amusement.
“Keep telling yourself that, hero.”
——
The drive is quiet. its a warm kind of quiet. No one felt like they wanted break it. It was comfortable.
Touya is slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating the kind of hostility that could curdle milk. His whole vibe is very moody teenager who just got grounded, which is impressive considering he’s a grown-ass man.
You let the silence ride for a while, because you know him. You know he’s stewing. Probably pissed at himself for actually staying in rehab instead of setting the place on fire and walking out in a dramatic blaze of glory. Maybe pissed at you for witnessing the fact that he actually completed something for once in his life.
After a few more minutes of unbearable tension, you finally break.
“You want food?”
Touya snorts. “What, we celebrating?”
You keep your eyes on the road. “I just figured you’d rather eat something that isn’t microwaved cardboard.”
“Bold of you to assume I even ate that shit.”
You exhale slowly through your nose. Patience. Touya is like a stray cat he hisses, scratches, and pretends he doesn’t need anything, but if you ignore him long enough, he eventually starts lurking near your door at dinner time.
“There’s a diner up ahead,” you say, because you will be feeding this dumbass whether he likes it or not. “It’s either that or you starve.”
Touya sighs, like agreeing to basic human needs is such a burden. “Fine. Whatever.”
-
The diner you pull into looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. The neon sign flickers like it’s having an existential crisis, and the parking lot is a graveyard of questionable life choices.
Inside, the place is nearly empty just a couple of truckers at the counter, mumbling over half-eaten plates of regret. The waitress barely looks up as you both slide into a booth.
Touya, being Touya, immediately sprawls out like he owns the joint, kicking his feet onto the seat across from him. He snatches up a menu but doesn’t actually read it just taps his fingers against the table like he’s already planning an escape route.
The waitress shuffles over, popping her gum. “What’ll it be?”
“Cheeseburger. Extra fries. Coffee,” Touya says, snapping the menu shut like he just finalized a business deal.
You squint at him. “Coffee? This late?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my mom now?”
You stare at him, debating whether or not to slide his menu across the table and slap him with it.
Instead, you sigh and place your own order. The waitress scribbles it down, looking just about as done with this conversation as you are, then walks off.
Touya slouches even further if he keeps this up, he’s going to merge with the booth. “So. You gonna give me some big, cheesy speech about how proud you are of me?”
You don’t even blink. “Do you want one?”
His lip curls. “Hell no.”
“Then no.”
Touya squints at you like he’s waiting for the catch. Like you’re gonna hit him with some life is a journey Hallmark bullshit at any moment. But when you don’t, he just clicks his tongue and looks away.
“You didn’t have to come get me,” he mutters. “Could’ve just called a cab.”
“Yeah, I could’ve.” You lean back in your seat. “But I didn’t.”
His fingers twitch against the table, like he wants to argue but can’t come up with a good enough reason. So instead, he scoffs and mutters, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
You smirk. “Yeah, well. So are you.”
When the food finally arrives, Touya wastes zero time inhaling it like he’s fresh out of a 24-hour famine. Fries? Shoveled into his mouth at breakneck speed. Burger? Absolutely demolished. It’s impressive, really. Borderline concerning.
You eat like a normal human being, sipping your drink as he continues his speed run.
Eventually, between bites, he mutters, “…Food’s not bad.”
You hide your smile behind your drink. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
Touya glares. “Don’t push it.”
You let the conversation fizzle out after that. No talking about home. No lectures. No big emotional moments. Just greasy diner food and the occasional sarcastic remark.
And when you both eventually leave and get back in the car, he doesn’t argue when you take the long way home. Doesn’t snap when the silence stretches again this time a little less heavy.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s his way of saying thanks.
You’re halfway through your plate when you notice it Touya has stopped inhaling his food like a wild animal and is just… sitting there. Not glaring, not throwing sarcastic barbs, just absentmindedly pushing a fry around his plate with a vaguely thoughtful expression.
You blink. “Oh God.”
Touya raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re thinking.” You point at him with your fork. “That’s never a good sign.”
He scoffs, shoving the fry into his mouth. “Shut up.”
But he doesn’t immediately follow it with another insult, which is weird. He just leans back, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s weighing whether or not to say something.
You tilt your head. “What?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, like this this moment, this entire night is physically painful for him. Then, finally, he mutters, “You look tired.”
You blink again. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every person wants to hear.”
Touya rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept?”
You shrug. “I sleep.”
He snorts. “Yeah? When? Between your constant babysitting and whatever dumbass hero shit you’re doing?”
You open your mouth, then close it. Because okay, maybe you don’t get as much sleep as you should. But it’s not like he’s one to talk.
Touya notices your hesitation and smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, well,” you huff, stabbing at your food, “not all of us have the luxury of napping through our responsibilities.”
“Luxury?” He scoffs. “I was in rehab.”
“You chose not to set the place on fire and escape. I call that a vacation.”
Touya stares at you for a second, then against all odds laughs. Not his usual sharp, mocking laugh, but something quieter. Real. It throws you off so badly that you just sit there, blinking at him.
“What?” he asks, still smirking.
“You laughed.”
He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Shit, did I?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t even a mean laugh.” You squint. “Are you dying?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
“Says the guy who fake-died for three years.”
“Touché.”
You shake your head, still thrown by the fact that he’s being… weirdly chill. Like he’s actually letting himself exist in this moment instead of treating it like some obligatory punishment. It’s suspicious.
Then, just as you’re about to call him out on it, he reaches across the table, plucks a fry off your plate, and pops it into his mouth.
You gape at him. “Did you just—”
“Yep.” He grabs another one. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
You slap his hand away, scandalized. “I fed you! I rescued you from microwave mush, and this is how you repay me?”
Touya grins, all teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Consider it a tax.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I should’ve left you in rehab.”
“Eh,” he says, stealing one more fry just to be an asshole, “but you didn’t.”
And for once, there’s no smugness behind it. Just quiet acknowledgement.
No thank you, no big emotional revelation just a stolen fry and the simple fact that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, you still showed up.
—
The air was thick with smoke, the night split by the wail of sirens and the distant shouts of first responders. The whole block was bathed in flickering orange light, fire consuming what used to be a warehouse now it was just a giant cautionary tale about what happens when dumbasses with unstable quirks play with explosives.
You exhaled through your nose, mask pulled up high, and glanced at the six-foot wall of muscle and arrogance standing beside you. Fucking Endeavor.
“So,” you said, tilting your head toward the raging inferno, “A+ work on the whole ‘subtle infiltration’ plan.”
Endeavor didn’t even look at you. Not surprising. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”
You gestured broadly at the absolute catastrophe in front of you. “See, I disagree. Because if we’re not laughing, we’re crying, and I—” You clapped a hand to your chest. “—am emotionally fragile.”
“Focus.” His voice was clipped, sharp, like he was the only professional here.
You rolled your eyes. “Right, right. ‘No nonsense. Only mission.’ Because God forbid we acknowledge that this is a shitshow.”
He ignored you, which was basically the foundation of your entire working relationship.
“What’s the plan?” you asked, already scanning the building for signs of movement.
“Contain the fire and get the survivors out,” he said, striding forward. Flames licked up his arms, rolling off his shoulders like he wasn’t currently surrounded by highly flammable debris.
You sighed, flexing your fingers. “Cool. Love a good ‘rushing into a death trap’ moment.”
Still no reaction.
You followed him in, ducking through the collapsed doorway as heat immediately punched you in the face. Smoke curled through the halls, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a living thing. You yanked your sleeve over your mouth, glaring at Endeavor’s broad back.
“You ever not act like you’re fireproof?” you muttered.
“I am fireproof,” he shot back.
You scoffed. “Okay, but I’m not, so let’s not turn this place into a crematorium before we’re done.”
Predictably, he didn’t dignify that with a response.
You both moved quickly, scanning the rooms, stepping over broken crates and unconscious bodies. Most of the smuggling ring had been handled either burned, unconscious, or very interested in getting arrested if it meant not being roasted alive.
The first survivors were on the second floor, huddled in what used to be an office but was now just another death trap.
You stepped over the threshold, crouching beside a barely conscious man. “Hey, buddy,” you murmured, hoisting him onto your shoulder. “Let’s get you the hell out of here before this place caves in, yeah?”
Endeavor hauled up another survivor with ease, barely even trying. God, so annoying.
“Get them out,” he ordered. “I’ll keep moving.”
You adjusted your grip, ignoring the sweat rolling down your temple. “Awesome. You run headfirst into hell, I’ll play babysitter.”
You turned on your heel, smoke curling at your feet as you hurried back out.
By the time you made it outside, paramedics were already rushing forward, taking the man from your arms. You exhaled sharply, rolling your shoulders, and turned back toward the warehouse.
Endeavor was still inside.
Not that you doubted him. He was the number two hero for a reason. But you’d seen enough missions go south to know that confidence didn’t mean shit when fire had a mind of its own.
Then—
An explosion rocked the building.
Your stomach lurched, heart pounding. For a split second, pure instinct screamed at you to move, to go back in but then, blue-orange flames burst from the second floor, and a moment later, Endeavor strode out of the smoke, dragging the last survivor behind him.
Because of course he did.
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Congrats on being a one man army.”
He barely spared you a glance, brushing soot off his shoulder like he hadn’t just walked through an explosion. “Handled.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, for sure. Totally casual. You ever not act like you just expect to survive every dumbass decision you make?”
His eyes cut to you, sharp and assessing. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”
You arched an eyebrow. “And you take it so seriously you forget to breathe. Maybe if you stopped treating every mission like a personal vendetta, people wouldn’t be so quick to call you an ass.”
His expression didn’t change. “I get results.”
You snorted. “And I get migraines every time we work together. Funny how that works.”
Endeavor let out a huff his version of done with this conversation and turned away, stalking toward the police.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess around you. Another night, another catastrophic team up with Japan’s most emotionally constipated man.
You really needed a drink after this.
But before you could make a break for the nearest bar, a voice rumbled beside you.
“…You did well.”
You blinked. Slowly turned your head.
Endeavor didn’t look at you just kept his gaze on the wreckage, arms crossed, face unreadable.
You squinted. “I’m sorry. What?”
His jaw ticked, like saying it physically pained him. “…I said, you did well.”
A slow grin spread across your face. “Holy shit.”
Endeavor immediately looked regretful. “Forget it.”
“Oh no no no, you don’t get to take that back.” You clutched your chest, mock gasping. “Endeavor praised me? I think I might cry.”
He sighed through his nose, very pointedly not engaging.
But you weren’t done.
“Wow. This must be what being a favorite child feels like.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Does this mean I get a ‘World’s Okayest Sidekick’ mug? Maybe a ‘#1 Emotional Support Hero’ t-shirt?”
Endeavor turned his head slightly. “You want a mug?”
You blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”
He shrugged, which, coming from him, was basically a yes.
You grinned.
Oh, you were never letting him live this down
Now your relationship with the number 2 hero was never your favourite team ups. Though you did feel a strange bit of validation and growth every time you had the chance.
—
You had fought villains, survived explosions, and worked with Endeavor without committing arson (yet), but nothing, nothing. had prepared you for sitting at the Todoroki family dinner table.
Yet here you were, trapped between Hawks, who looked way too entertained, and Shoto, who was sipping his drink like he was emotionally detached from this entire situation.
Endeavor sat at the head of the table, arms crossed like he also didn’t want to be here, and Fuyumi was the only one smiling like this wasn’t the most awkward hostage situation you’d ever been part of.
“So!” she said brightly, setting down a plate in front of you. “How has working with my dad been?”
You immediately froze, a piece of food halfway to your mouth. Slowly, slowly, you turned your head to glance at Endeavor.
He was already looking at you.
Judging.
Daring you to open your mouth and ruin your career.
Hawks, the absolute devil, nudged your side with his elbow. “Go on. Be honest.”
You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time. “Well…” You cleared your throat. “He’s, uh… very efficient.”
Shoto snorted. “That’s a polite way to put it.”
You pointed your fork at him. “See? He gets it.”
Endeavor exhaled through his nose, which, given the fact that his entire body was basically a walking furnace, made it look like he was barely restraining himself from setting the table on fire. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Hawks smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah, say it.”
You shot him a you are so dead after this look before sighing dramatically. “Fine. You want the truth?” You turned to Endeavor. “Working with you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall, if that brick wall was actively judging you and could also set things on fire.”
Fuyumi gasped. Shoto took another sip of his drink. Hawks nearly collapsed against the table, laughing.
Endeavor, completely unfazed, just grunted. “You still get the job done.”
“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I am so touched.”
Hawks wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, this is so much better than I imagined.”
You turned to Fuyumi. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”
She actually laughed at that, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad!”
Shoto, still completely monotone: “It is that bad.”
Endeavor let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.
By the time dinner ended, you were slumped against the doorway, utterly drained. Hawks, of course, was thriving, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that was fun! Same time next week?”
You whipped around. “Do not manifest that.”
Fuyumi clapped her hands together. “Oh! That would be wonderful—”
“NO.” You pointed a warning finger at Hawks. “This is your fault.”
He grinned. “Worth it.”
As you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples. “I need a drink.”
Hawks slung an arm over your shoulders. “Told you it’d be fun.”
You shoved him off. “Keigo, I swear to god—”
—
Fighting Dabi was always a pain in the ass. Not just because of the fire which, yeah, was a huge problem but because he never shut up.
Tonight was no different. Flames roared around you, painting the alleyway in flickering blue as you dodged another wave of heat. The bastard was laughing, like this was some kind of game.
“What’s the matter, hero?” Dabi taunted, taking a lazy step forward. “Too hot for you?”
You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you steadied yourself. “Wow, never heard that one before. You come up with that yourself?”
His smirk widened. “Nah. I save my best material for special occasions.”
Before you could throw back another quip, Dabi’s eyes flickered to your uniform specifically, to the slight burn mark on your sleeve, barely visible but unmistakable.
And then, his entire demeanor changed.
His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper. More calculating. His gaze darkened.
“Huh.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “That’s interesting.”
You kept your stance firm, watching him carefully. “What?”
Dabi’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin returning, but this time it was more… sinister. “That burn mark.”
You frowned, glancing at your sleeve. “Yeah? What about it?”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was something off about it something almost too amused. “Been spending time with other guys? I thought we were exclusive”
Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. “oh? and what makes you say that?”
Dabi crossed his arms, the flames around his hands flickering dangerously. “So… you’ve been working with him, huh?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice dripped with something between mockery and genuine intrigue. “You’ve been on missions with Endeavor.”
You still weren’t sure why that mattered to him, but something in his tone made your skin crawl. You scoffed, keeping your voice even. “Yeah, so? He’s the number two hero. I work with a lot of pros.”
Dabi let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s hilarious.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell is so funny?”
His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You, hero. Running around, playing sidekick to that bastard.” He let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. “I wonder… did he finally get what he wanted?”
Your jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dabi’s smirk twitched, like he was enjoying some inside joke at your expense. “Nothing. Just seems like you don’t know your mentor as well as you think.”
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down your spine. But you weren’t about to let him rattle you. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Dabi just grinned, stepping back. “Nah. I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself.”
And before you could stop him, he vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but embers and more questions than you wanted to deal with.
—
You had somehow let Fuyumi trick you into another dinner. You weren’t sure how it happened one second, you were wrapping up a mission with Endeavor, and the next, you and Hawks were walking up to the Todoroki house like it was some weekly scheduled event.
“You manifested this,” you muttered, glaring at Hawks as you knocked on the door.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, smirking. “I think this is great for you.”
“I hope you get hit by a rogue Nomu.”
The door opened before Hawks could come up with a comeback, and Fuyumi greeted you with her usual bright smile. “You came!”
“Yeah, yeah, against my better judgment,” you muttered as she ushered you inside.
This time, the vibe was slightly less tense than before. Natsuo still wasn’t here (no surprise), but the rest of the family was present Endeavor looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Shoto was neutral as always, and Hawks was making himself way too comfortable again.
As Fuyumi moved to set the table, you noticed something different this time a photo album was open on the coffee table, pages slightly worn at the edges.
You nudged Hawks and motioned toward it. “Look at this. Actual proof that Endeavor has been outside of a crime scene.”
Hawks chuckled, leaning in. “Wow. I can’t even picture him smiling.”
You flipped a few pages, finding old photos of Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo when they were kids. The pictures looked almost normal—almost like any other family.
Then you saw a photo that made you pause.
It was a boy, older than Shoto but still young, with white hair and striking blue eyes. He was grinning, arms crossed with a cocky smirk, like he knew he was the coolest person in the room.
You frowned, tapping the picture. “Who’s this?”
Fuyumi turned from the kitchen and followed your gaze. Her expression softened just slightly. “Oh… that’s Touya.”
You glanced at Hawks, who also looked mildly surprised. “Huh. Never heard of him.”
Fuyumi’s smile dimmed just a little. “He was our oldest brother.”
Was.
You weren’t dumb. That single word told you enough.
Endeavor’s entire posture tensed, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table like the conversation wasn’t happening.
Shoto was unreadable as ever. “He passed away a long time ago.”
You blinked, looking between them. You hadn’t even known Endeavor had another kid, and now you were learning he was dead?
Hawks, who was usually one to crack a joke, was silent beside you, his sharp eyes studying the photo with an unusual seriousness. “How?”
Fuyumi hesitated, shooting a glance at her father. “An accident,” she said carefully. “A fire.”
You didn’t need a full explanation to understand there was a lot more to the story than she was letting on. The entire atmosphere in the room had shifted like an invisible weight had settled over the conversation, suffocating and heavy.
You looked at the boy in the picture again. Touya. Something about his expression, his posture, felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why.
Hawks leaned back, whistling lowly. “Damn. Didn’t know you had another sibling, Shoto.”
Shoto’s eyes flickered to his father before looking away. “Most people don’t.”
You glanced at Endeavor, who was completely silent, jaw clenched. If the man was already emotionally constipated on a good day, now he looked like someone had shoved a grenade down his throat and pulled the pin.
Yeah. You were not asking follow-up questions.
Fuyumi gave you a sad smile before quickly trying to shift the mood. “Anyway! Dinner’s ready.”
You exchanged a glance with Hawks, silently agreeing to drop it for now.
But as you ate, your eyes kept drifting back to that photo. There was something about it, something that made your stomach twist.
Something that told you this wasn’t the whole story.
—
You’re barely five minutes into the drive when Touya starts fidgeting. One leg bouncing, fingers tapping, sighing dramatically every few minutes like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.
You ignore him for as long as humanly possible.
Then another heavy sigh.
“For fuck’s sake,” you say, glancing at him. “What?”
Touya smirks. “Nothing. Just love a good awkward silence.”
You roll your eyes and turn down a side street, heading toward an old parking lot on the edge of the city. It’s the kind of place that’s either a sketchy drug deal spot or just an abandoned lot that no one’s cared about for years. Either way, it’s empty, which is exactly what you need.
When you park, Touya squints at you. “Oh, nice. Super ominous.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what, this is where you tell me you’ve secretly been hired to kill me? ‘Cause, honestly? Should’ve done it before you wasted money on my food.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, digging around in the glove compartment. “I’m playing the long con.”
Touya watches as you pull out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He blinks. “The hell? Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t.” You tap the pack against your palm, knocking one loose. “Except when I do.”
He huffs a laugh and pulls out his own pack. “Terrible influence. Hope you know that.”
“You’re literally the last person who gets to say that to me.”
Touya just shrugs, flicking his lighter open. He takes a slow drag, then leans over the console, offering you the lighter with a lazy smirk. “Go on, then. Join me in my terrible life choices.”
You roll your eyes but lean in, lighting your cigarette. The first inhale burns your lungs in a way that’s almost nostalgic, and when you exhale, the smoke curls into the night air.
For a while, neither of you speak. Just sit there, smoking in companionable silence, staring out at the city lights in the distance.
Then Touya, ever the shit-stirrer, side-eyes you. “Soooo… you’re in love with me, right?”
You cough on your cigarette, nearly choking. “What the fuck—”
He grins, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, think about it. You picked me up, bought me food, brought me to this super romantic abandoned parking lot—” He gestures vaguely. “Like, if you’re gonna confess, at least do it with some dramatic flair.”
You take a slow, pointed drag. Exhale. Stare him dead in the eyes.
“Touya,” you say dryly, “if I were in love with you, I’d have worse problems than this cigarette.”
He snorts, tipping his head back. “Fair point.”
Another silence stretches between you, this one lighter. Less heavy, more like… a pause between bullshit conversations.
Eventually, Touya flicks his cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle out. “…Y’know,” he mutters, “you didn’t have to pick me up.”
You shrug. “Yeah. But I did.”
He side-eyes you again, expression unreadable. Then he exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Idiot.”
“You’re welcome,” you say, smirking.
He groans, slouching further into his seat, but he doesn’t argue.
And that’s how you know he actually means thank you.
—
The smell of smoke still clung to the air, thick and acrid, curling in the space between you and Dabi… Touya. You didn’t even realize you were gripping your fists until your nails bit into your palms, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t breathe.
It made sense now. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never really tried to kill you even when he had the chance. The pieces had been there all along, but now they were clicking together too fast, too loud.
And Dabi- no, Touya- was watching you like a cornered animal, all teeth and venom, muscles tight like he was ready to bolt or attack, whichever came first.
“Say something,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re staring like a fucking idiot.”
Your throat was dry, words sticking to your tongue like glue. But then, finally—
“You’re Touya.”
His jaw twitched, fingers curling at his sides. “No shit.”
The sheer casualness of it nearly sent you over the edge. “No shit?” You took a step forward, shoving a hand through your hair. “That’s all you have to say? You.. You let me think you were just some guy this whole time”
“I am just some guy.”
“Don’t fucking do that,” you snapped. “You lied to me.”
Dabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lied? Oh, that’s rich.” He took a step toward you, voice dropping into something low and mean. “You think I owe you the truth? That I was just gonna sit you down like, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a walking family tragedy with daddy issues bigger than this whole fucking city’?” He sneered. “Be for fucking real.”
Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I thought we—”
“What? Had something?” His grin was all sharp edges, nothing warm behind it. “Hate to break it to you, but that was your mistake.”
You felt something crack in your ribs, but you ignored it. “I trusted you.”
Dabi’s expression twisted into something ugly, something raw, but it was gone in an instant, swallowed up by that same defensive, sharp-toothed smirk. “Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
He scoffed. “Doing what? Telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, warning you to back off but you didn’t. “You wanna play hero so fucking bad, then act like one. Arrest me. Fight me. Do whatever the fuck your little code tells you to do.”
You clenched your jaw. “You’re pushing me away.”
“Good.”
That hit harder than it should have.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dabi wasn’t looking at you anymore he was staring past you, at nothing, jaw tight like he was trying to hold back words that could shatter his teeth.
But you’d had enough.
You exhaled sharply and took a step back. “Fine.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t move, didn’t react.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Guess I was wrong about you.”
Dabi let out a short, hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Guess you were.”
The city felt too loud. Even with the distant hum of sirens fading into the night, even with the crackling embers of the smoldering wreck behind you, the weight in your chest made it hard to hear anything else.
Touya—Dabi—was still standing there, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly like he was waiting for you to walk away. Like he expected you to.
And maybe you should.
Maybe you should turn on your heel, pretend like this conversation never happened, pretend like his words didn’t bruise, pretend like your chest wasn’t burning with something ugly and disappointed.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you took a breath. Steadier this time. Then another.
“Okay,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving.”
His shoulders barely shifted. “Yeah. Got that part.”
You ignored him. “But I’m not letting you do this.”
His jaw tensed. “Do what?”
“This.” You gestured at the space between you, at the sharp, jagged edges of this conversation, at the way he was standing like a kicked dog trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “Pushing me away like it’ll fix anything.”
He scoffed, but it didn’t have the same bite. “And what, you think not pushing you away is a better idea? Think about it, genius. What do you actually want from me here?”
Your fingers curled at your sides. “I want the truth.”
Touya laughed. It wasn’t sharp this time wasn’t even mean. Just quiet. Exhausted.
“The truth?” He shook his head, looking past you again, somewhere far, far away. “I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”
“You gave me a version of it,” you shot back. “The one that hurts the least for you.”
His expression flickered for half a second something too fast to catch, something that almost looked guilty. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“And?” he said, like he was daring you to argue. “That’s what people do.”
“No, it’s what you do.”
Silence.
For the first time since this started, Touya actually looked at you. Fully. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but you could feel the tension underneath it all.
He thought this was the last time you’d talk. Thought this was the final thread snapping between you, the moment where you’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort.
And maybe you should.
But instead, you exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face.
“Y’know what?” you muttered, stepping past him. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
And for a second, you thought that was it.
But then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—
“…I didn’t want you to know.”
You froze.
Turned back.
Touya was still standing in the same spot, still holding himself like his own body was a battlefield—but his fists were clenched, his head dipped just slightly, like this admission was something he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “You were never supposed to know.”
Your heart twisted.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he took a slow step back, eyes flicking somewhere over your shoulder—like he was making sure you weren’t blocking his escape route.
You stared at him for a moment longer, waiting.
He didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t take it back. Didn’t try to fix it.
So you nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.”
The city air was still thick with the scent of smoke, but the fire wasn’t the problem anymore. Not really.
You should leave. You should let this be what he wanted it to be one clean break, one final cut before you could crawl too deep under his skin.
But then he said it again.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Barely above a whisper. A confession that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat against his will.
You froze. Turned back.
Touya’s gaze flickered to you, but only for a second before he looked away, jaw locking.
You swallowed against the tightness in your chest. “Why?”
Nothing.
Not right away, at least. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach for something, maybe even you, but wouldn’t let himself.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because you look at me like I’m-” He stopped himself, mouth pressing into a thin line.
You tilted your head, stepping closer. “Like you’re what?”
Touya scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair, shoulders tensing. “Like I’m fixable.”
That knocked the air out of you.
“Touya…”
His fingers curled into fists, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth. “Don’t.”
But you couldn’t not. Not when he was standing there like this, when the usual cocky bravado had cracked just enough for you to see what was underneath.
“You think I’m trying to fix you?” you asked, voice softer now. “That’s not—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’s not what this is.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
“No.” You shook your head. “I just- I care about you.”
His head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing like the words had physically hurt him.
You took another step closer, slow, careful, hands open at your sides like you were approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to push me away.”
His throat bobbed.
For a moment, just one, you thought he might actually let you close the distance. Thought he might let his shoulders drop, let you see him without all the fire and sharp edges.
But then he stepped back.
Not far. Just enough. Just enough to tell you what he couldn’t say out loud.
His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression blank, but his voice betrayed him.
“I do have to.”
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
Touya’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away. “Because if I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’ll hurt more when you finally realize I’m not worth it.”
Something in you cracked.
You wanted to scream. Shake him. Make him understand.
Instead, you just let out a slow breath. “That’s not gonna happen.”
He huffed, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
The worst part was he truly believed that. He thought it was only a matter of time. That you’d come to your senses, see him for what he thought he was, and leave him behind before he could stop you.
And you could tell, deep down, that he was already bracing for it.
You hesitated for half a second before reaching out slowly, carefully and letting your fingers brush against his wrist. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, uneven texture of his scars.
His breath hitched.
Not a flinch. Not quite.
But he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t look at you either, though. Just stared at the ground, breathing unsteady, like he was trying to decide whether or not to bolt.
You squeezed, just slightly. “I’m still here.”
A pause.
Then, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him—
“…For now.”
And that? That was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay.
—
Dabi never liked to stick around after fights. He was a hit and run kind of guy burn what he wanted, say something snarky, and disappear before anyone could pin him down. But for some reason, he had been lingering more and more after your encounters. especially after how tense the last encounter everything had been weird. Yes you had found out he was Touya but he had also found out his current chase has been cozy with the thing he missed the most.
You weren’t sure why. You weren’t working together, you weren’t allies, but somehow, you kept running into each other. And somehow, neither of you had killed the other yet.
Tonight was another one of those nights.
You had spent the last half hour chasing him through an abandoned district, dodging fire and insults in equal measure. Eventually, it turned into a weird kind of truce he had gotten bored, you had gotten tired, and now you were sitting on a crumbling rooftop, catching your breath while he lit a cigarette.
He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “You’re getting slower.”
You shot him a glare, still panting. “Or you’re getting faster.”
He snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You leaned back on your hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, for a guy who’s so dedicated to burning society to the ground, you sure do waste a lot of time chatting with me.”
Dabi hummed, tapping ash off the side of the building. “Maybe I like watching you get pissed off.”
“Oh, yeah, that definitely tracks.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at him. “So? What’s the next step in your grand villain plan?”
He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You shrugged. “Eh. If it’s anything like your usual, I’m guessing ‘fire, explosions, and traumatizing civilians.’”
Dabi let out a low chuckle. “Not a bad guess.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, casually, you spoke.
“Had dinner with your sister again.”
You hadn’t looked at him when you said it, but you felt the way he tensed beside you.
It was subtle. So subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you had been around him enough now to catch the small things. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the cigarette, the brief pause in his breathing.
His voice was even when he responded, but there was an edge to it. “Oh yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah. She made this crazy good teriyaki chicken. Even got Hawks to shut up for a full five minutes.”
Dabi scoffed, taking another drag. “Miracle worker.”
“Right?” You smirked. “Shoto was there too. And Endeavor.”
Dabi’s expression immediately darkened at the name, his grip on the cigarette tightening. “Sounds like a real fun time.”
You ignored the bitterness in his tone. “It was something, that’s for sure.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Y’know… she still talks about you.”
Dabi went completely still.
You kept your gaze ahead, pretending not to notice. “Not all the time. Just little things. The way you used to joke around when you were kids. How you’d always eat the last piece of tempura when nobody was looking.”
Dabi let out a short, humorless laugh. “She remembers that?”
“She remembers a lot,” you said, softer this time.
Another silence. Dabi stared at the horizon, jaw clenched. His cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers crackling in the quiet.
You watched him carefully. For all his arrogance, all his cruelty, there were cracks in the walls he had built. Moments like this, when you could almost see past the fire and spite when the boy he used to be bled through, just for a second.
But just as quickly, he shoved it down.
He flicked his cigarette away, standing up. “This was fun, hero. Let’s do it again sometime.”
You frowned, watching him. “That’s it? No snarky remark?”
Dabi gave you a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for it next time.”
And before you could say anything else, he disappeared into the night.
But as you sat there, watching the last of the smoke fade into the sky, you couldn’t shake the feeling that for just a moment. he had hesitated.
—
You both sit there in the car, letting the last wisps of cigarette smoke curl out the windows. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rustling in the nearby bushes, which based on the location could either be a raccoon or someone plotting a murder. Either way, not your problem.
Touya exhales sharply, flicking his cigarette out the window. “So, what now?”
You glance at him. “What do you mean ‘what now’?”
“I mean, what the hell are we doing? You kidnapped me from rehab, bought me food, let me pollute my lungs in peace feels like there should be a next step in this weird-ass bonding experience.”
“You want a scrapbook?” You lean back against the seat, stretching. “Maybe a trophy? ‘Congratulations, you survived rehab and only complained about it 47 times!’”
Touya scoffs, side eyeing you. “That’s lowballing it. I complained at least 93 times.”
“Yeah, I stopped listening after the first 50.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Whatever. This whole thing is pointless.”
“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize I was supposed to plan a grand Welcome Back to Society party,” you say, deadpan. “Should I have rented a clown? Gotten one of those shitty banners that say ‘You Did It!’ in Comic Sans?”
Touya huffs a laugh but quickly wipes it off his face, like he refuses to let you win even a little. “Yeah, I’d rather set myself on fire again than be subjected to that.”
You smirk. “Damn, next time I’ll actually do it, then.”
Another silence stretches between you, but it’s not comfortable. You can tell he’s restless, fidgety, like he’s trying to swallow down some actual feelings and it’s making him physically ill.
And sure enough—
“…I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”
There it is. The actual problem.
You tap your fingers against the steering wheel. “What do you want to do?”
He gives you an exhausted look. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”
“Hey, some people like being miserable. You’re one of them.”
“Fuck you.”
You grin. “There it is.”
He rolls his eyes and slouches further into his seat. “I’m serious, dumbass. Like… what now? What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some boring-ass job? Become a ‘functioning member of society’ or whatever bullshit they kept telling me in rehab? What if I just don’t?”
You shrug. “Then don’t.”
Touya blinks. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” You throw him a look. “Did you want me to give you a whole therapy monologue? ‘You got this, king! Chase your dreams! Live, laugh, love!’”
He gags. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“There you go, then.”
He mutters something about you being insufferable under his breath before rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh. Whatever. This whole thing sucks.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to being alive.” You stretch again, popping your back. “Anyway. Let’s go.”
Touya frowns. “Where?”
“I dunno. But if you’re gonna sit there having a melodramatic crisis about your future, we might as well do it while driving.”
He stares at you. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
“You’re so fucking mean,” you shoot back, starting the car. “Buckle up, jackass.”
He groans but does it anyway, muttering complaints the entire time.
And with that, you pull out of the parking lot, heading absolutely nowhere by just you, a moody ex-arsonist, and a whole lot of sarcastic insults to get you through the night.
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
um… i wrote some spicy headcannons… I uhhh 🙉
Sal Fisher X Reader
ᯓ★ Why Would You ᯓ★
A small drabble. Btw! i just found this pixel art on pinterest and if someome can point me at the artist that would be super swaggy!!!
masterlist
SYNOPSIS: he left you alone. After everything he’s left you alone.
ᯓ★ The graveyard is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your ears ring, like the world is holding its breath. You shift on your feet, staring at the headstone, your fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers you brought. They’re crushed now petals bent, stems snapped but you don’t care. You’re not even sure why you brought them in the first place. It’s not like he can appreciate them.
Your chest feels tight, something thick and unbearable pressing against your ribs. It’s been years. Years since you stood here for the first time, too numb to do anything but cry. Time was supposed to dull the pain, make it easier to breathe, but it hasn’t. If anything, the ache has settled in, a permanent part of you that refuses to fade.
You kneel, fingers brushing the dirt from the letters carved into stone. Sal Fisher. The name alone feels like a punch to the gut.
“Hey, Sal,” you whisper, your voice cracking.
Silence. Of course, silence.
You suck in a sharp breath, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “You always said ghosts stick around when they have unfinished business. But if that’s true, then why?” Your throat tightens. You press your palm against the cold granite as if that’ll make the words come out easier. “Why can’t I feel you here?”
Your fingers curl against the stone, frustration bubbling up beneath the grief. “I’ve seen ghosts before, you know? Back at the apartment, they showed up whenever they felt like it. They whispered, moved things, made their presence known. But you? You” Your voice rises, shaking with anger. “you just left. Like you were never even here.”
The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, but it’s not enough. It’s not a voice, not a sign, not him.
running both hands through your hair as you let out a bitter laugh. “You were supposed to be different, Sal. You were always different. Smarter. Stronger. You always found a way. So why the hell is this the one thing you can’t do?”
A lump forms in your throat, but you swallow it down. “Do you know how long I waited?” Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “I kept looking for something anything. A flickering light, a dream, a voice, a shadow out of the corner of my eye. But there was nothing. Not a damn thing.” You shake your head, chest heaving. “Was I expecting too much?”
The weight in your chest presses heavier, suffocating, as you stare at his name carved into cold, unfeeling stone.
“Do you have any idea what you left me with?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. It shakes not with sorrow, but with anger.
Your hands tremble as they grip the ruined bouquet. “Ashley’s gone. Vanished. I don’t know where she went, and I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Todd” You suck in a sharp breath, jaw tightening. “Todd barely speaks anymore. He’s a ghost in his own way, Sal. He’s still here, but he’s not.”
Your voice rises, fury crackling through your grief. “Everyone else is dead! Do you get that? Everyone is dead!” Your foot slams against the base of the grave, dirt shifting under your heel. “You said you’d always be here, but you’re not! You left me!”
A sob tears out of your throat, but you bite it back, refusing to break. Not here. Not now.
“You weren’t supposed to go,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “You were everything, Sal. You were my best friend, my family.” You choke on the words, then force them out, raw and trembling. “the love of my life.”
You clutch at your chest, nails digging into the fabric of your shirt as if you could rip out the hollow ache where he used to be.
“You didn’t just die, Sal. You left me.”
The wind howls through the graveyard, rattling the branches, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not him. It’s never him.
pressing your forehead against the stone, fists clenched so tightly your nails bite into your palms. “I don’t want to do this without you,” you admit, voice small. “I don’t know how.”
Silence stretches between you and the grave, as empty as the space he left behind.
Your shoulders drop, exhaustion settling into your bones. The anger drains just as quickly as it came, leaving only the grief behind. You exhale shakily, falling back to your knees, pressing your forehead against the headstone like it’ll somehow bring you closer to him.
“I miss you, sal,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I want you to be at peace or if I want you to haunt me forever.” You let out a hollow laugh. “Because if you’re really gone… I don’t know how to do this without you.”
The wind shifts, softer this time, brushing against your skin like a touch you can’t quite feel. You close your eyes. For a second just one second you think you hear it. A whisper, faint and familiar.
“I miss you too.”
Your breath catches, eyes snapping open. But there’s nothing. Just the wind and the empty graveyard.
Maybe it was real. Maybe it wasn’t.
Either way, it’s not enough.
i feel my funny meme area should not be here for this one
Keigo Takami | Hawks X Reader
𓅰 𓅬Smoke and Feathers𓅮 𓅯
I offer you angst and disgust and sadness and brainrot
masterlist
Synopsis: You love him, hes a whole hypocrite though
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 The knock on your door came just as you had started to relax for the night. You glanced at the clock late, even for him. With a sigh, you padded over, unlocking it without much thought. Hawks never really needed an invitation.
Keigo Takami stood in your doorway, grinning like he always did. The kind of grin that put people at ease, but you knew him better than that. His golden eyes flickered across your face, scanning for something maybe exhaustion, maybe suspicion.
“Hey, partner,” he greeted, stepping inside before you could respond. “I was craving chicken, and I figured, why eat alone when I could bother you instead?”
“You could eat at your place,” you shot back, closing the door behind him.
“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Too quiet. Besides, your place is way fancier. Food tastes better after being in rich people’s apartments.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Keigo had been your friend since you debuted at eighteen. Four years of missions, battles, and shared exhaustion had formed a bond neither of you really questioned. But lately, something about him had been…off.
“Fine. I hope to not be super tired after this.”
“Obviously.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the door.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
You ended up on top of a bridge after grabbing food, the city sprawled beneath you in glittering lights. It was peaceful up here just the occasional hum of distant traffic and the rustling of Keigo’s feathers when he shifted. You sat side by side, bags of takeout beside you, a breeze lifting your hair.
“You ever think we peaked too early?” Keigo mused, biting into a drumstick.
“Are you having a mid life crisis at twenty two?”
He snorted. “Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love being a pro hero, but sometimes I think… I dunno. If I weren’t one, maybe my love life wouldn’t suck so bad.”
You smirked. “Yeah, you and your long line of failed flings.”
Keigo sighed dramatically. “Ouch. What about you, huh? Any luck?”
You shook your head, taking a bite of your own food. “No time. Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”
“yeah yeah,” he grinned. Then, after a pause, “You ever think about settling down?”
You raised a brow. “We sound like old people right now.”
Keigo chuckled, but there was something in his expression something calculating.
“Must be nice, though,” he continued, staring down at the city. “Having people to rely on. To trust.”
You frowned. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could reply, he kept going.
“Speaking of trust, I heard some interesting things lately,” he said casually, leaning back on his hands. “The League’s been moving differently. Word is, they’ve been pulling back from certain areas, regrouping.”
You tensed slightly, but forced yourself to stay relaxed. “Yeah? Didn’t hear anything about that.”
Keigo hummed, side eyeing you. “Funny. You usually have good ears for things like this.”
You knew what he was doing. He wasn’t outright accusing you wasn’t even asking directly. But he was fishing. He knew you’d been close with Dabi, and now he was prying without making it obvious.
You took another bite of food, playing it cool. “Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
Keigo smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Appreciate it.”
And just like that, the conversation shifted back to jokes and laughter. But you knew better. Hawks was good at this game at wearing masks, at pretending.
Keigo stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You know, if we were normal, we’d probably be out right now. Living life, partying, dating.”
You snorted. “You’d probably be someone’s problem boyfriend.”
He gasped, “Wow. No faith in me at all?”
“None.”
Keigo laughed, but you could hear the strain underneath it. He was doing that thing again acting like everything was fine, like there wasn’t a million things weighing on his mind. You wanted to ask, but you already knew how that would go. He’d brush it off, give you some half truth, then change the subject.
Instead, you reached out, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing his hand. He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away.
“I mean it, Keigo,” you said, voice steady. “I know relationships are pretty much out of the picture for us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re important to me. No matter how messy things get, I value every second I spend with you.”
For once, Keigo didn’t have a snarky response. His golden eyes softened, the usual playful glint replaced with something quieter, something more vulnerable. He squeezed your hand slightly, as if grounding himself.
“Damn,” he muttered, looking away. “You always gotta go and say stuff like that.”
You smiled. “It’s the truth.”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I deserve that. Having people who actually care.”
You frowned. “Of course, you do.”
Keigo didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to your intertwined hands, then back to the city. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to say it.
“Thanks,” he finally murmured.
The word felt heavier than it should have, like there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t. And maybe he never would. But for now, this was enough.
You stayed like that for a while, sitting together on the bridge, hands still linked. For once, neither of you needed to fill the silence.
The silence didn’t last.
Keigo shifted beside you, the weight of his gaze pressing into your side. You could feel it before he even spoke the tension rolling off of him in waves, the way his body stiffened slightly.
“I just… I worry about you, you know?” His voice was light, casual, but you weren’t stupid. You could hear the edge to it. “The League isn’t exactly the safest crowd.”
Your stomach twisted. You knew where this was going.
“I don’t know anything, Keigo.”
He gave a breathy chuckle, but it lacked humor. “Come on, I know you’re smart. You’re always in the middle of things. You’re telling me you haven’t heard anything?”
You turned to him fully now, frowning. “I said I don’t know anything.”
Something in his expression wavered, just for a second. He rubbed a hand down his face, like he was trying to steady himself, but when he spoke again, there was something sharper underneath.
“I just” He exhaled harshly. “I don’t get it. Why won’t you tell me?”
That set something off in you. You pulled your hand away from his, frustration boiling over.
“Because there’s nothing to tell, Keigo! What, do you think I’m hiding things from you? That I’m playing some kind of double agent?”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t want to think that.”
“But you do.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his feathers ruffling behind him. “You’re close with Dabi. You’re” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “I’ve seen what the League is capable of. And you” He gestured at you, eyes burning. “You’re getting wrapped up in it whether you realize it or not.”
You scoffed, standing up abruptly. “So that’s what this is, huh? You don’t trust me.”
Keigo stood too, stepping closer. “It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you safe.”
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t about that. You’re trying to get answers out of me. Like I’m some suspect.”
Keigo’s usual mask was gone now no charming smiles, no lazy grins. His wings twitched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“The Commission” He stopped himself again, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I have to do this.”
You felt something crack in your chest. “So that’s what I am to you? A job?”
“Of course not!” His voice was sharper than before, his usual control slipping. “But if they think you know something, they’re gonna keep pushing! And if you do know something and don’t tell me, then what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I already told you I don’t know anything! But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you already made up your mind.”
His wings flared out, feathers rustling with tension. “You think I want to do this? You think I like treating you like this?”
You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sure seems like it.”
Keigo let out a harsh breath, and suddenly, his frustration snapped into something else something desperate.
“I love you.”
The words hit like a shockwave, knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes widened, but he didn’t stop.
“I love you, okay?” His voice was rough, strained. “That’s why this is so fucking hard. That’s why I can’t just sit back and let you ” He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. “I can’t lose you.”
Your heart pounded in your chest. He was breathing hard, his golden eyes wild with emotion. You had never seen him like this never seen him so raw.
The tension between you was thick, the city buzzing below, but up here, it was just the two of you. And you had no idea what to say.
“Fuck, Keigo.”
Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was enough to make him flinch. His wings, usually so steady, twitched behind him, like he was fighting the urge to fly away.
You didn’t know what to say. Lord knows you loved him you would do anything for him. But this? This hurt. The way he was looking at you, the way he was questioning you like you were some kind of liability instead of his friend. Instead of someone who had been by his side for years.
Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to cup his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his breath uneven.
You searched his face, desperate to find the trust that should have been there. But all you could see was hurt.
Hurt because he knew this was wrong. Hurt because he had to do it anyway.
And longing. Longing for something he had convinced himself he couldn’t have. Longing because, despite everything, despite the lines being blurred and the masks slipping, he wanted you.
You swallowed hard, your thumbs tracing along his jaw. “You don’t have to do this,” you murmured.
Keigo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again. “I do.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t get it. If I don’t… they will.”
Your grip on him tightened. “I don’t know anything, Keigo.”
His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face before it faded into something more vulnerable. “Then why do they think you do?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Dabi and I, fuck Keigo we just talk. After fights, after missions. That’s it.”
His eyes searched yours, and for the first time tonight, it felt like he was actually listening. Like he was really seeing you.
His hands came up, hesitating for only a second before resting over yours, keeping them against his face. His touch was warm, calloused from years of battle, but there was a softness there too. A silent plea.
“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.
Your chest ached. “Then don’t.”
Keigo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and make him see that it was that simple. That he didn’t have to follow the Commission’s orders like a puppet, that he didn’t have to do this to you to himself.
But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked. that was the worst part of all. The first tear slipped out before you could stop it.
Then another.
And another.
You didn’t even realize you were crying at first, too consumed by the frustration bubbling in your chest, the betrayal clawing at your throat. Your hands were still on his face, trembling now, and Keigo’s eyes widened as he felt the wetness of your tears bleed into his heart.
“Hey”
You sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t help. The weight of everything crashed over you all at once.
You had spent years fighting, bleeding, sacrificing to protect people to make the world safer, to do the right thing. And this was your reward? Being questioned like a criminal? Being treated like someone who couldn’t be trusted by the one person who should have known better?
You let out a broken, bitter laugh, your grip on Keigo tightening. “I’ve killed for this job,” you choked out. “I’ve bled for it. I’ve given everything to make sure people are safe. And the thanks I get is my best friend accusing me like I’m some kind of traitor?” Your voice cracked at the end, and you let your forehead drop against his. “The Commission making you accuse me?”
Keigo inhaled sharply, like your words physically hurt him.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and before you could say anything else, his arms were around you.
He pulled you into him, crushing you against his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you like a shield. His grip was almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear entirely.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”
But it didn’t fix anything.
It didn’t take away the ache in your chest, the sting of his accusations, the knowledge that if the Commission had its way, he’d be forced to keep pushing.
Still, you clung to him, your fists curling into his jacket. Because despite everything, despite the pain, despite the betrayal. You still loved him. that was the worst part of all.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. But the weight in your chest, the sting in your throat it wasn’t going away.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath, but it came out shaky and uneven. And as much as you wanted to stay in his arms, to pretend like none of this was happening, you couldn’t.
So you let go.
You pulled back, slipping from his hold, and immediately, his arms twitched like he wanted to reach for you again. But he didn’t.
You took a step back. Then another. His wings twitched, his golden eyes wide and desperate.
“I don’t…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Keigo stiffened, the color draining from his face. “What?”
You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to catch your breath. “This us it’s just gonna keep getting worse. The Commission’s already pushing you to treat me like a suspect, and I can’t I won’t keep going through this.”
His expression twisted, panic flickering behind his eyes. “If we stop seeing each other, they’ll just use that as another excuse to build a case against you.” His voice was sharp, urgent. “They’ll say you’re cutting ties because you have something to hide.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
His brows furrowed, frustration creeping into his features. “Of course it fucking matters.”
You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Keigo, how am I supposed to be around you if I know every conversation we have is controlled?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I can’t even tell if you’re talking to me or to the Commission?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
You took another step back. He took a step forward.
You held up a hand to stop him, your breath shaky. “I love you, Keigo.”
His whole body froze, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. His wings twitched again, his feathers rustling in the cool night air.
“I love you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. “And I meant what I said I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. But I can’t trust you anymore.”
The words shattered something in him. You saw it happen in real time. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab you and shake you and beg you to take it back.
“Wait,” he said, and his voice almost sounded broken. “Just wait.”
But you shook your head.
“I can’t do this,” you whispered.
Keigo’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had met him, you saw something you never thought you’d see in him.
Fear.
Not fear of the Commission. Not fear of the League. Fear of losing you.
And as you turned away, his hands curled into fists, his mind racing with the realization that the Commission had just done the one thing he never thought possible.
They had pitted you against each other.
And he had let them.
The moment you disappeared from sight, the weight of it all crashed down on him.
Keigo staggered back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His wings drooped, feathers trembling as if they could barely hold themselves up anymore.
You were gone.
His hands came up to his face, fingers curling into his hair as he let out a harsh, broken breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was you. The way your voice cracked when you told him you loved him. The way your eyes shined with betrayal. The way you walked away.
His chest felt tight too tight.
He had spent his whole life playing this game, moving pieces around the board, following orders, doing what needed to be done. He had done it all without hesitation, without attachment, without caring.
Because caring got people killed. Caring made you weak.
At least, that’s what he had always believed.
Then you happened.
And he hadn’t even realized how much you meant to him until he was watching you slip through his fingers.
A sharp, choked noise tore from his throat as he staggered forward, his hands gripping at his hair. His chest hurt. He had never felt this before not even as a kid, not even when he was forced into a life that wasn’t his own.
Because back then, it hadn’t mattered.
But you had mattered.
You had trusted him. You had let him in, had told him how much he meant to you. And in return?
He had destroyed it.
His knees hit the metal of the bridge, and he barely even registered it. His wings curled around him, shielding him from the rest of the world, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Because for the first time in his life He had let someone in. And he had ruined it.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
The television flickered in the dimly lit room, its glow casting soft shadows against the walls. Keigo Takami otherwise known as Hawks leaned back in his seat, golden eyes trained on the screen as a familiar figure appeared.
It had been months.
Keigo’s eyes followed every headline, every news segment, every article that mentioned you.
Y/n Soars to New Heights: A Pro Hero On the Rise
Hero Y/n’s Daring Rescue Saves Dozens in Quirk Incident
Top 10 Pro Hero Y/n: The Future of Japan’s Hero Society
Each headline was another stab to his chest. He saw the numbers, the statistics, the articles that spoke of your bravery, your skill, your rise to the top. The world had watched you climb, and you had done it with grace, with skill, with everything he knew you were capable of.
“Once again, Japan’s rising star, Y/n, has taken down another villain with efficiency and grace!”
The anchor’s voice carried an air of excitement, painting you as a beacon of hope for the country. Footage played of you in action your movements sharp and calculated, your quirk flowing seamlessly between offense and defense. The crowd erupted in cheers, reporters clamoring for your attention, yet you only offered them a polite nod before moving on, as if there was always more work to be done.
Keigo exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it between his fingers.
He wasn’t surprised. You had always been relentless in your pursuit of justice. He had seen it firsthand, the way you carried the weight of expectations without complaint. But now, watching you through the cold lens of a camera, he could see what no one else seemed to notice.
You were drowning yourself in work.
News articles flooded his phone.
“Japan’s Heroine Y/n Soars Higher Than Ever!”
“Y/n: The New Symbol of Hope?”
“Nonstop Victories, But At What Cost?”
The last one caught his attention. Clicking on the article, he scanned through the words. Some journalist had picked up on it too the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your posture stiffened ever so slightly after every battle. But the world only saw the hero. They saw the unwavering smile, the power, the perfection.
Keigo knew better.
You were running yourself ragged, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
His hands clenched into fists. He had never felt so useless before. In the past, he would have sent a teasing message, a check in disguised as banter, just to make sure you were okay. But now, his wings were clipped metaphorically and literally. The mission he was on kept him far from the public eye, and any contact with you would compromise everything.
Still, he watched.
Night after night, he kept up with your hero work through screens and articles, seeing the light in your eyes dim just a little more each time. The world was blind to it, too enamored by your victories to notice the toll they took on you.
Keigo sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
“Dammit, Y/n.”
He wanted to tell you to slow down. That you didn’t have to carry everything alone. But he knew you you wouldn’t listen, not when you thought the weight was yours to bear.
But as he watched from afar, he saw something else something he knew he couldn’t ignore.
You were drowning.
It wasn’t hard to see, not if you looked closely enough. There were the faint bags under your eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes in the photos. He could see it in the way you moved quick, efficient, but with a certain rigidity, like you were trying to keep the pieces of yourself together.
The interviews, the press events, the rescue missions. You were out there always out there. Never stopping. Always moving.
Keigo had seen this before. It was the kind of thing that had broken him.
The thing he was now witnessing in you.
You were using your work as a shield. You were burying yourself in it, pretending that the mess of the world, the constant need to be the best, would somehow fill the hollow space where everything else had fallen apart. You were drowning in your responsibilities, in the expectations of others. And he hated himself for not being able to stop it.
He couldn’t reach you.
He couldn’t be the person you needed.
The Commission had made it clear the moment you walked away they had made sure that there would be no contact, no easy path to you. They had pushed him away, forced him to see you as an obstacle, a potential threat.
He had followed the orders. He had stayed away.
But every day, every night, when he saw the photos, heard the reports of your latest success, it felt like another punch to the gut. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. And worse he was the reason you had shut him out.
You deserve better than this, he thought, each time he saw a picture of you smiling, though it never quite reached your eyes. You deserve better than me.
The most recent headline:
Y/n’s Heroic Feat: A Mission Gone Wrong Injuries and Recovering, But Will She Stay at the Top?
The article detailed how you had barely made it out of a dangerous mission, sustained injuries, and had pushed through it, despite the odds. The photos showed you at the hospital, a bruise on your cheek, your expression cold and distant as you posed for the cameras. Your usual confidence was there, but it was muted like a shell of yourself.
Keigo’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup in his hand, his gaze locked on the screen.
There it was again you were hurting.
But he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. The Commission had made sure of that.
Every day, it ate at him. The guilt. The fear. The constant ache in his chest. And all he could do was watch.
Because that’s all he was allowed to do.
He turned away from the screen and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t keep doing this.
But as much as he wanted to move on, as much as he wanted to focus on his own missions and do what the Commission had trained him for, he knew he couldn’t.
You were out there, giving everything for a world that barely understood you.
And he was here, stuck in a cage of his own making.
“Fuck,” Keigo whispered to himself. “I miss you.”
But you were gone. And he was the one who had pushed you away.
That was the price he paid for trying to be the hero everyone needed. The cost of being a tool of the Commission.
He couldn’t even hate them for it. Not when it was his own failure that had led to this.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
Keigo sat in the Commission’s office, his expression neutral as he listened to the orders being laid out before him. The air was stale, the weight of the conversation pressing down on his shoulders. He knew what was coming before they even said it.
“Your next mission is infiltration.”
The head of the Commission, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice that left no room for argument, slid a file across the table. Keigo barely glanced at it. He already knew whose name was inside.
“The League of Villains is growing stronger. We need someone on the inside. Someone they’ll trust. You have the skills to make this work, Hawks.”
His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.
“You’ve already shown your ability to keep a close eye on potential threats before.”
The words weren’t just words. They were deliberate. A reminder.
A reminder that they had once given him a different mission to keep tabs on you.
And what had they accused you of?
“Suspicious relationships with certain individuals.”
“Questionable morals due to prolonged conversations with known villains.”
“Potential compromise to the hero system.”
All because you had spoken to someone deemed dangerous. All because you hadn’t followed their rigid, black and white definition of justice.
And now, they were telling him to do the same thing.
A bitter laugh curled at the edges of his thoughts, though he kept his face unreadable. So it was fine when it was for them? When it was for the mission?
Hypocrites.
Keigo wanted to tell them to go to hell. That he saw through their bullshit. That if they thought he hadn’t noticed how they twisted things to suit their needs, they were dead wrong.
But he didn’t.
Because despite the anger curling in his gut, despite the guilt gnawing at his ribs, he still cared.
He cared about the future. About a world where kids didn’t have to grow up training to fight for their lives. A world where people had too much time on their hands instead of living in constant fear.
A world where you were safe.
So he bit his tongue.
“Understood,” he said instead, voice smooth and unwavering.
The Commission nodded, satisfied.
As the meeting wrapped up, Keigo tucked the folder under his arm and left the room. His steps were light, easy, just like always. But inside, his thoughts swirled like a storm.
⸻
Later that night, he sat on the rooftop of a tall building, the city stretching out beneath him. The folder lay open beside him, the moonlight illuminating the pages.
Dabi.
He had never spoken to the guy. Only knew what the files told him. Ruthless. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The League’s arsonist. The only reason Dabi hadn’t been fully exposed was because he covered his tracks well.
And yet, there was one thing in these files that stood out more than anything else.
You knew him.
You talked to him sometimes. That alone had been enough for the Commission to put you under watch. Enough for them to wonder if you could be turned into a threat.
Keigo exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
It felt wrong. All of it.
But he had already made his choice.
If playing the villain meant securing a world where you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder every day, then he would do it.
Even if it meant stepping into the same shadows they once accused you of standing in.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
It wasn’t like you had planned for things to turn out this way.
But after everything with Hawks after the accusations, the betrayal, the months of silence you had found yourself somewhere you never expected.
With Dabi.
It hadn’t happened overnight. At first, he was just another thorn in your side, another ghost you kept running into when the night was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. But for whatever reason, the two of you had fallen into an odd sort of rhythm.
Dabi didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He didn’t look at you with pity or expectation. He was just there, in the same way you were floating, untethered, existing in the spaces where heroes and villains blurred.
And maybe that’s why you were here now.
The scent of burnt concrete and gunpowder still clung to the air, mixing with the sharp, acrid smell of Dabi’s scorched skin. The battle had ended not long ago, and now, the two of you sat in the dimly lit hideout, the flickering light casting long shadows across the worn out walls.
“You looked like shit out there,” you teased, stretching your legs out in front of you as you leaned back against the couch.
Dabi scoffed, rolling his shoulder with a slight wince. “Yeah? And you looked like a damn try hard. What, gunning for some hero points?”
You snorted. “Please, like I need to impress anyone.”
Dabi grinned, a lazy, knowing smirk as he tapped ash from his cigarette onto the floor. “Right, right. Forgot you’re already Miss Popular out there. Japan’s sweetheart.”
“You’re just mad I had you on your knees.”
“dont make shit up.”
“You were about to eat pavement, dude.”
He flicked the cigarette away, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. “Tch. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes, tossing a nearby rag at him. Dabi caught it effortlessly, shaking his head. “Annoying.”
Before you could respond, the door creaked open.
Your breath caught.
For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It had been months months since you’d seen him.
Yet, there he stood.
Hawks.
He looked the same as always messy blond hair, sharp golden eyes, wings tucked neatly behind him. But there was something off about seeing him now, here, in this space. Like an image that didn’t belong in the same frame.
Your reaction must have been obvious, because Dabi’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slow, amused smirk creeping onto his face.
“Well, well,” Dabi mused, leaning back. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing a celebrity tonight.”
Hawks smiled easy, smooth, like he was slipping into a familiar rhythm. “What can I say? Thought I’d drop by, see what all the hype’s about.”
His eyes flickered to you, just for a second.
You were still staring. You hated that you were still staring.
Months. Months. And now he was just… here?
“Guess you finally wanted to be cool,” Dabi said, standing up slowly. “Took you long enough, bird boy.”
Hawks let out a laugh, loose and effortless. “Hey, better late than never, right?”
Dabi tilted his head, watching him. Sizing him up. “So, what? You lookin’ to make friends?”
“Something like that,” Hawks said, slipping his hands into his pockets. His tone was light, playful, but you knew him well enough to catch the calculation behind his words.
Dabi must’ve caught it, too, because his smirk widened slightly, like he was deciding just how much he wanted to play with his new toy.
“Sweetheart,” Dabi suddenly drawled, shifting toward you, “you didn’t tell me you and our new guest had history.”
You felt your stomach drop.
Hawks didn’t react.
Not even a twitch.
Dabi, of course, wasn’t done. He took a step closer, slinging an arm around your shoulder in an almost lazy manner, fingers drumming lightly against your arm.
Hawks’ gaze flicked to the movement quick, calculated. But he didn’t break.
Not even a hint of irritation, no change in posture. He just smiled, golden eyes still half lidded with that same effortless charm.
“Guess she didn’t think it was important,” Hawks mused, voice smooth as ever. “Can’t say I blame her.”
Dabi’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your shoulder, and you felt the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was testing. Poking at the edges.
“Mm. Maybe,” Dabi mused. “Or maybe she just didn’t want you to know.”
“Now, why would she do that?” Hawks asked, tilting his head, his voice still perfectly even.
You could feel the tension between them, even if it was all wrapped in easy smiles and playful words.
You exhaled, finally moving.
“Alright, enough,” you muttered, shoving Dabi’s arm off you. “I’ve had enough for the night.”
Your tone was casual, but you knew you knew that your hands were trembling just a little.
Dabi let his arm fall away easily, watching you with amusement. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. We were just getting started.”
You shook your head, already walking past them, needing space. “Not in the mood for whatever weird macho thing you two are doing. Try not to kill each other.”
You didn’t look back.
Didn’t want to see the way Hawks was watching you.
Didn’t want to think about why he was here. And definitely didn’t want to acknowledge the way your heart was still racing.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
The sky burned.
Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating, a mix of fire, blood, and the crumbling remains of the Meta Liberation Army’s last stand. The battlefield was a mess of clashing wills heroes and villains tearing through each other in a violent symphony of destruction.
And at the center of it all, Hawks stood with blood on his hands.
Twice lay lifeless at his feet.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his wings twitching with adrenaline, but there was no time to breathe, no time to process.
Because standing just a few meters away, fire licking at his fingertips, was Dabi.
The villain’s usual smirk was absent. His blue eyes burned hotter than his flames, sharp with something Hawks couldn’t quite place anger, satisfaction, something in between.
“You heroes are all the same,” Dabi muttered, taking a slow step forward. “Always so high and mighty. Always so convinced you’re better than us.”
Hawks tightened his grip on his remaining feathers. “You think Twice would’ve been better off if I let him go?”
Dabi’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. This wasn’t about saving people. You’re just another pawn doing whatever the Commission tells you, right? Good little lapdog.”
Hawks didn’t flinch, but the words dug in.
Dabi’s flames flickered to life, casting shadows across the ruined battlefield. “Tell me, Hawks. Did it feel good? Taking down a guy who just wanted to protect his friends?”
Hawks exhaled, steadying himself. “I’m not getting into this with you.”
But Dabi wasn’t finished.
His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, and Hawks didn’t like it.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dabi mused. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that righteous hero image of yours, huh?”
Hawks knew what this was. Psychological warfare. Dabi was trying to dig into his head, to make him hesitate. But Hawks couldn’t afford to he needed to finish this quickly.
A red feather shot toward Dabi in a blur of speed.
But Dabi was already moving.
Flames roared to life, meeting the attack head on, burning the feather into nothing. He closed the distance between them fast, forcing Hawks back with a wall of searing heat.
“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Dabi taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “Always gotta focus on the mission. But let’s talk about something more interesting.”
Hawks didn’t respond he couldn’t afford to. His feathers moved like blades, slicing through the air, but Dabi dodged, relentless in his approach.
And then Dabi said something that made Hawks’ blood freeze.
“She’s been treating me real nice, you know.”
Hawks’ entire body tensed.
Dabi grinned, sensing the shift. “Ah, so you do care.”
Hawks’ feathers shot forward in a flurry, faster, sharper, but Dabi dodged with ease, the flames around him growing wilder.
“You should see her, Hawks,” Dabi continued, voice smooth, taunting. “The way she looks at me. The way she lets me touch her.”
Something inside Hawks snapped.
He moved without thinking, faster than before, closing the distance between them with a brutal efficiency. His feathers struck harder, aiming for vital points.
But Dabi wasn’t done.
“She never mentioned it?” Dabi dodged, twisting out of the way at the last second. “How we spend our special time together?”
Hawks’ next attack wasn’t clean. It wasn’t precise. It was pure anger.
His feathers slashed out with no restraint.
Dabi barely managed to throw up a wall of fire in time, skidding back as the force of the attack cut through his jacket, slicing against his skin.
“Ohh,” Dabi let out a low whistle, shaking out his arms. “Touched a nerve, huh?”
Hawks didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heart was pounding.
Dabi laughed, slow and deliberate, eyes flickering with something dangerous.
“That’s what I thought.”
But Hawks didn’t let him say anything else. Because in the next second, he was on him.
This fight was over.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
The hospital room was dimly lit, the only source of light spilling in from the window. It was quiet too quiet. The kind of silence that followed catastrophe, where the air was too still, too heavy, as if the world itself was still trying to understand the weight of what had happened.
Your body ached with every breath. The bandages wrapped around your torso were tight, holding together wounds that had nearly been fatal. Every movement reminded you of how close you had been to not making it out.
And yet, all of that the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of the war it all faded away the moment the door opened.
You almost didn’t turn.
You had spent weeks expecting to see him, waiting, hoping but he never came.
Not when you needed him. Not when everything fell apart.
And yet, something in you recognized him before you even looked.
When you finally did, you felt your breath hitch.
Keigo.
He stood in the doorway, alive but barely.
His wings were a shadow of what they once were. The red feathers that had once been so vibrant were scorched, burnt at the edges, some missing entirely. His body was wrapped in bandages, his movements slower, weaker. But what hit you the hardest was the mask strapped over his mouth.
A speaker had been attached to it, taking over for the voice he had nearly lost in the fire.
Dabi’s flames had nearly ruined him.
You sat there, frozen, staring.
Your heart clenched so painfully it felt like another wound had opened up inside you.
And then you moved.
The blanket was thrown off, the pain screaming through your body as you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were unsteady, but you didn’t care. You needed to reach him.
Your hands curled into fists before you could stop yourself, and the moment you were close enough you hit him.
He didn’t move.
Your fist landed against his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to feel it.
Then you hit him again.
And again.
“You!” Your voice cracked, emotion clogging your throat, burning behind your eyes.
He didn’t stop you.
“You accused me” Another hit, weaker than the last. “You said I was playing both sides that I wasn’t loyal!”
Your breath was coming in ragged gasps now, your vision blurring as you kept hitting him, kept pushing him, as if forcing him to feel just a fraction of the hurt you had been carrying.
“Then you” Your fists trembled as they pressed against him. Your knees felt weak. Your voice cracked.
“You did the exact same thing.”
The words barely made it past your lips before they were swallowed by a sob.
You had tried so hard to stay angry. To hold onto the rage, the betrayal because anger was easier than hurt.
But seeing him now, standing in front of you alive but barely holding on It was too much.
Your fists loosened, curling into his shirt instead, gripping him as if he would disappear if you let go.
“I thought you were dead.”
Your voice broke entirely, and the dam inside you cracked, the emotions you had been holding in for months finally spilling over.
The nights spent staring at the news, searching for any sign that he was still alive.
The silence stretching on for too long.
The fear that you had lost him forever.
Your body trembled as you pressed your forehead against his chest, the sobs wracking through you with the force of everything you had been desperately trying to bury.
And then finally he moved.
His hands rose, hesitating for only a second before they touched you.
One cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other wiped at your tears with his thumbs, his touch impossibly gentle despite the roughness of his gloves.
And then he did something he shouldn’t have.
He pulled off the mask.
You gasped. “Keigo”
He shouldn’t have. You knew it. He knew it.
But when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken, ruined by the burns, by the damage that had permanently scarred him but the words hit harder than anything else.
“I missed you.”
Your breath caught.
His thumb traced the tear streaked path down your cheek, his touch trembling, but steady.
“I never” His voice faltered, the pain clear in the way his throat choked on the words, but he forced them out anyway. “I never stopped regretting it.”
Your fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.
“Letting them control me,” he rasped. “Letting them ruin this. Ruin us.”
His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, shaky.
“I’m so sorry.”
You swallowed, your tears still slipping down your cheeks, your emotions still raw, still aching.
But you could see it now the weight he carried. The exhaustion in his eyes. The guilt that had been eating him alive from the inside out.
Even if he had a hundred lifetimes, even if he was reborn again and again, you knew.
He would regret this every single time.
Regret losing you.
Your fingers uncurled from his shirt, moving up to cup his face, your thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. His skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than you remembered. Maybe from the burns. Maybe from the way he was looking at you.
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
“You should’ve come back sooner.”
His eyes softened, his hands still cradling your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin as if trying to memorize the shape of you, to convince himself that you were real.
“I know.” His voice was so hoarse, so wrecked, but still so him.
Your chest ached at the sound of it.
“You scared me,” you whispered, fingers curling into his skin. “I thought ” You swallowed, voice trembling. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
His breath hitched.
“You think I didn’t feel the same?” His forehead pressed more firmly against yours. “Every day, I thought about you.”
Your heart clenched.
“I don’t want to do this again,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
His grip tightened. “You won’t.”
There was so much promise in those two words, so much desperation, as if he was trying to will them into being true.
You weren’t sure if you could believe it. Not yet. Not with the war still raging, not with everything still uncertain. But you wanted to.
Dabi : “Man, your girl’s been treating me real nice lately. We’ve had some… special time together.”
Hawks: “Shut up.”
Dabi: “What? You don’t like hearing about how sweet she is to me? How she—”
Hawks: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A FREE ASS WHOOPING!”
chat 🙉
Hawks is a "What's a little cock between friends?" guy
Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader
⋆˚✿˖°Irresistible ⋆˚✿˖°
BACK TO HIM DATING A YOUNGER READER!! hes just so lovely, we are married actually.
Being back at U.A. always felt a little surreal. No matter how many years had passed since your time as a student, the halls still carried the same energy, the same excitement, the same faint scent of ink and sweat, the same distant shouts of students causing trouble. It was nostalgic, sure, but today, you weren’t here as a student.
You’d agreed to be a guest speaker at U.A. today, mainly to share your experience as a Pro Hero with the students. It was a bit of a casual visit, with no intense expectations, just a way to inspire the next generation of heroes. Of course, Hizashi, Present Mic was assigned to show you around for the day.
Today, you were here as Pro Hero: Lumine, a guest for the day. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t steal a moment for yourself.
As you walked the halls, Hizashi right beside you, you kept up the act, casual, professional. You were here to speak to a few classes, answer some questions, maybe help out with some training. But right now, with no students or teachers in sight, you saw an opportunity.
You grabbed Hizashi’s wrist and pulled him around a quiet corner, just out of sight.
“Whoa babe?” he blinked, confused for a second, before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Miss me already?”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “You know I don’t get to see you much when I’m busy with work.”
His grin softened. “Yeah… I know.”
You let your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was rare for the two of you to have moments like this. where the world outside didn’t demand your attention, where you weren’t constantly on duty, where you weren’t Pro Hero Lumine and Present Mic but just… y/n and hizashi.
Hizashi leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his voice quieter than usual. “You sure we got time for this?”
“Barely,” you admitted. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
He chuckled, sliding his arms around your waist. “Y’know, you’re gettin’ real bold. Pullin’ me into a corner like some kinda secret rendezvous.”
You smirked. “What can I say? I see a tall blonde guy and my mind goes dumb”
“Really now, huh?” His voice dropped just a little, teasing. “So if I kissed you right now, would that be too exciting?”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… depends. Are you gonna be able to keep your voice down?”
“Oh, babe,” he grinned, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your lips. “That’s a real big ask.”
You huffed a laugh before finally closing the distance, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. Hizashi hummed in contentment, pulling you closer as if he could somehow make the moment last longer.
But the sound of voices approaching had you both reluctantly pulling apart. He sighed dramatically. “Duty calls, huh?”
“Duty calls,” you echoed, straightening his tie playfully. “Try not to look too lovestruck, yeah?”
“Pfft—too late for that, babe.” He winked before stepping back, adjusting his glasses like nothing had happened. But you caught the way his fingers brushed his lips, as if memorizing the feeling.
With one last glance, you turned the corner together back to being professionals, back to your roles, back to the world outside of this stolen moment. But as you stepped into the light, you knew you’d both be thinking about it all day. Though Hizashi kept up his usual energy as he led you through the halls, chatting away as he pointed out minor changes to the school since your time as a student. The occasional student would recognize you, whispering excitedly to their friends, but no one interrupted. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually, you both reached Class 1-A’s door. Hizashi grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Ready to meet the little hero’s ?”
You huffed a small laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the spirit!” Then, without missing a beat, he flung the door open and practically bounced into the room. “YEAHHHH! WHAT’S UP, CLASS 1-A?! GUESS WHO I BROUGHT?” a collective gasp followed.
“Wait! that’s Pro Hero Lumine!”
“No way! They’re here?”
“Whoa, they’re so cool in person!”
Hizashi gestured toward you with a dramatic flourish. “That’s riiiiight! The one and only Lumine!” He shot you a look, and you barely held back a smirk.
Aizawa, standing at the front of the class, gave you both a blank stare, then sighed. “I assume you’re not just here to disrupt my class?”
“Aw, c’mon, Eraser, you know we had a guest today!!” Hizashi had a tragic frown on his face. “Lumine here is our guest speaker, remember?”
Aizawa raised a brow at you, and you simply shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride at this point.”
As you stepped forward, Hizashi continued, “Now, listen up, kiddos! Not only is Lumine one of the youngest Top 10 heroes—”
“—he’s really over explaining right now,” you interjected.
“—BUT!” Hizashi continued dramatically, ignoring your interruption, “they also happen to be my—”
You stiffened. Your what?
Luckily (or unluckily), Aizawa cut in smoothly, “Your former student. Yes, we’re aware.”
Hizashi blinked, then coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, yeah, my former student. That’s what I was gonna say.”
The students exchanged looks. Some, like Kaminari and Mina, were eyeing you both very suspiciously.
Mina leaned forward, grinning. “Ooooh, that pause was kinda weird, wasn’t it?”
Kaminari elbowed her. “Right? Like, what was he actually gonna say?”
“Probably something embarrassing,” Jirou muttered, smirking.
You shot Hizashi a look. Really? He gave you a sheepish smile in return. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we move on?”
You cleared your throat, stepping in to refocus the room. “Right! Anyway, I’m here to answer any questions you have about being a pro hero. So—”
But before you could finish, Kaminari blurted, “How do you know Present Mic so well?”
The whole class leaned in, clearly interested. You deadpanned. “We go way back.”
“How far back?” Mina grinned.
Aizawa sighed. “This isn’t relevant.”
“But it’s interesting!” Mina shot back.
Hizashi, bless him, was absolutely not helping, just standing there grinning like an idiot. You exhaled through your nose, crossing your arms. “Far enough that I have plenty of embarrassing stories about him, but not enough time to share them all.”
The class erupted.
“Oh, we need to hear those!”
“Please tell us at least one!”
You shot Hizashi a look, and he gave you an exaggerated shrug, eyes sparkling with joy.
—-
After the class, as the students trickled out, you turned to Hizashi with a pointed look. “You’re doing a terrible job at hiding our relationship.”
He grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Oh c’mon, babe. You look real cute when you’re flustered.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could leave, he caught your wrist, fingers warm against your skin.
“Hey.” His voice was quieter now, softer, missing its usual booming energy. He glanced at the empty classroom, then back at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost hesitant. “Got a sec?”
You hesitated, Nezu had mentioned stopping by to check in on you, and you really should be heading to the next class but the way Hizashi’s fingers brushed over yours made it hard to say no.
“…Fine. But just a sec.”
Hizashi wasted no time, tugging you toward the classroom’s small storage area, pulling the door shut behind you. The space was tight, barely enough room for the two of you, and the moment you were alone, his hands found your waist, pulling you in close.
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You drive me crazy, y’know that?” His thumb brushed over the fabric of your uniform, slow, deliberate. “Havin’ to watch you all day and not kiss you?”
You smirked, fingers slipping up his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. “Must be so hard for you.”
“You have no idea.”
Then his lips were on yours urgent and deep, like he was making up for lost time. You barely had a second to react before you were melting into it, tilting your head to let him kiss you deeper. His hands slid up your back, one trailing to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you pressed against him.
The kiss started slow, teasing, but it didn’t stay that way. The pent up energy from the entire day the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way he had to hold back in front of the students spilled over into something more intense. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he let out a quiet groan against your lips, the sound vibrating in his chest.
“Babe,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re killin’ me here.”
You smirked against his lips. “You started it.”
Hizashi let out a breathy chuckle, then dipped his head lower, lips trailing down your jaw, then to your neck. The scrape of his teeth against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your grip on him tightened.
“This is such a bad idea,” you whispered, tilting your head back to give him better access.
“Yeah?” His breath was warm against your throat. “Then why aren’t you stoppin’ me?”
You swallowed hard, knowing he had a point. “Because,” you admitted, fingers slipping up to to the back of his neck, “I missed you.”
That made him pause. Just for a second. Then he let out a quiet sigh, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before leaning back just enough to look at you.
“I missed you too,” he murmured, voice softer now, more serious. His fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re always runnin’ around, savin’ the world, bein’ a top hero and all. Feels like I barely get time with you anymore.”
You exhaled, hands resting against his chest. “I know. I feel it too.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, in that small, dimly lit space, his arms around you, your bodies still close, the world outside feeling miles away.
Hizashi’s fingers slid down your arms, his grip tightening around your hands. “Maybe after this, we ditch early. Get some real time together.”
You smiled. “You suggesting we cut class, Yamada?”
He grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your lips. “A little. Say you had to go save someone and take me with you”
You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Tempting.”
Before either of you could decide, a voice shattered the quiet. “You do realize this school has cameras, right?”
You both froze. Slowly, you turned to see Aizawa standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking utterly unimpressed.
Hizashi, ever the professional, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, casually stepping away from you like that would somehow erase what just happened. “Hey, Eraser! How long you been standin’ there, buddy?”
“Long enough.”
You exhaled sharply. “Fantastic.”
Aizawa gave you both a long, pointed look, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just… keep it out of the classrooms.” Then, shaking his head, he walked away.
As soon as he was gone, Hizashi turned to you with a grin. “Welp. Busted.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I told you we’d get caught.”
Hizashi just laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Worth it.”
:0
Magnum opus
little star — diluc 。
synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).
cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!
note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write
word count !! 2.8k something
"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."
"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.
"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."
"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."
"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"
"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"
"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"
There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.
"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.
It's useless, really.
Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.
For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.
It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.
A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.
They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".
The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!
It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.
He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.
He convinces himself it's fine.
It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.
It's fine.
As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.
•
The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.
Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.
A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.
While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.
He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.
At least he's competent at being a wallet.
As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.
He tries to look away.
"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.
"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.
Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—
Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.
You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.
He leaves the area without a second thought.
•
He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).
He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.
That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.
"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.
(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?
Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.
Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.
Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.
He's glad you enjoy apple cider.
•
You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.
You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.
You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.
Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.
— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???
Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!
An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.
"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.
"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."
Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!
"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.
"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"
Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!
At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.
"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."
"That would be great, Jean!"
•
You hope you aren't being too obvious.
With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.
Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.
"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.
What?
No!
"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.
With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.
You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!
Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.
Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.
"Would you like a refill?" He asks.
"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?
"You seem to be quite busy." You say.
Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.
"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?
"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"
"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.
"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"
"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."
Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?
"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"
Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.
Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.
Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?
"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"
He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?
Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?
"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"
"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.
Diluc mirrors your confusion.
"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"
"Me?" He repeats.
"I've always wanted you!"
A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.
Explain yourself.
"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"
"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.
"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"
Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"
"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."
He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–
"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."
You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.
With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.
"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.
Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.
He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.
"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.
"That's not the last of it, you know."
"What?"
With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.
"I told you I brought gifts!"
All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.
Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.
By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.
But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.
You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.
"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."
m.list 2 || consider supporting me on ko-fi ! || sagau m.list
note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu
I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )
taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie
so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time
Kaeya Alberich
The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.
It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.
“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”
And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?
Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.
“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.
Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.
“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”
And you do.
—
The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.
His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.
Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.
Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.
Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”
The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.
VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT
no one:
me: reading my own fic over and over again
Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader
ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼
I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?
masterlist
You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.
ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.
“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.
“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”
The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.
“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”
A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”
“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”
There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.
“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”
You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”
“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”
You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”
“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”
You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.
“Alright, you two cut it.”
You both froze.
“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”
You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”
“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”
“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”
You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”
“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”
“You remember that?” you teased.
“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”
Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”
“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”
Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”
Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”
“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”
“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.
You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”
“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”
You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”
Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”
But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.
He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”
You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”
“You do call me every night.”
“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”
Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.
Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.
“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”
“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”
“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.
You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.
“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”
You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”
Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”
“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”
“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”
Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”
“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”
There was a long pause.
“…I’m turning off my comm.”
“You won’t,” you sang.
Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.
“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”
“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”
Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.
“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”
Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You absolute menace.”
“See you then, Sweetheart.”
Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.
“God, you’re both exhausting.”
You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”
He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The room was quiet now.
The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.
You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.
It always did, when the room emptied.
He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.
The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?
You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.
And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.
You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.
Would he be disappointed?
You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?
Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.
You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.
You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”
Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.
But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.
So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?
He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.
“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”
A pause.
“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”
Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.
He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.
Comms girl <3: You sure about this?
Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.
bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.
Your reply came within seconds.
Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.
He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.
blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.
Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.
He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”
You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.
He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.
Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.
bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?
he typed.
bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.
Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.
Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.
Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:
bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.
Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.
For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.
The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.
He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.
bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.
Nothing.
He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.
Not her.Not yet.
And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.
He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.
His phone buzzed again.
Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.
He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.
bluebird: You nervous?l
Comms Girl: Maybe. You?
He smiled.
bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.
You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.
You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.
Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The drink was starting to sweat on the table.
Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.
He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?
He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.
And he looked.
She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.
Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.
Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.
Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.
Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.
He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.
Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.
bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”
The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.
Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.
Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.
His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.
Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.
Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.
bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.
You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.
Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out
He huffed a quiet laugh.
bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.
You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.
He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.
“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.
“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”
“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”
You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”
Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”
You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”
“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”
That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.
“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”
You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Better or worse?”
You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”
“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”
You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.
“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.
“Then let’s even it out.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”
You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”
“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”
A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.
“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.
He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”
“Tragic.”
Another moment of quiet, then
“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.
You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”
Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.
Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.
You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.
But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.
“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”
Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”
You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”
“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”
His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.
Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.
So he gave you more of them.
“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”
You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”
You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”
“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”
“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”
“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.
You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.
After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”
“Hit me.”
“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”
He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”
He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”
You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”
He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”
“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”
“She must’ve been so mad.”
“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”
Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”
“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”
His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”
You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”
“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.
“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”
You blinked. “Grandpa?”
“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”
“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”
“I stand corrected.”
The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.
Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.
“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.
You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.
“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”
The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.
Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.
You caught him staring.
“What?” you asked, arching a brow.
He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”
You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”
He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”
Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”
“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”
You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.
He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:
“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”
You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”
He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”
You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.
“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”
“I do not!”
He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”
You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.
“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”
Your heart thudded hard.
He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.
You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”
Hizashi Yamada X Reader Drabble/Crack
🖇️✩ +̊🎧 MOMMY?!?? 🖇️✩ +̊🎧
masterlist
a student calls you mom
·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡ Setting up for Hizashi’s English class was something you did often as his TA, but today, you felt particularly playful. The classroom was empty, the morning sunlight casting golden rays through the windows as you arranged papers on his desk. Hizashi stood near the whiteboard, adjusting the projector settings, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
“You know, Y/N,” Hizashi mused, tapping at the keyboard, “I think these kids would riot if they knew how excited I was for today’s lesson.”
You chuckled, glancing over the syllabus. “They always riot when it comes to English.”
You smirked, stepping closer until you were right behind him. Your fingers ghosted over the fabric of his vest as you leaned in, breath warm against his ear.
“Oh, they always riot when it comes to english,” you murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “But lucky for you, I’m here. and the faster this lesson goes means we can finally have some… fun.”
Hizashi stiffened for half a second before he turned to you, eyes slightly wide behind his glasses. His ears, hidden beneath his wild blond hair, were definitely burning red. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice cracked just a little, and you bit your lip to hold back a laugh.
Before he could recover, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. The door swung open as students began filtering in, chatting amongst themselves. You took a casual step back, arms crossed, watching as Hizashi cleared his throat, adjusting his collar as if it would help hide his flustered expression.
“ALRIGHT, CLASS! LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!” he boomed, though you could hear the slight edge in his voice.
A collective groan cut him off.
“Not English…” one student muttered, resting their forehead against the desk.
Another let out a dramatic sigh. “Why do we even need to learn this? Can’t we just use our quirks in other countries and let a translator handle it?”
You smirked, stepping forward. “Actually, no. A lot of hero agencies overseas require their heroes to have at least basic conversational skills in English. And trust me, you don’t want to be that one hero who has no idea what’s going on in a mission briefing.”
A few students exchanged glances, though the enthusiasm was still lacking.
Hizashi nodded. “Yeah! Plus, how are you gonna do interviews with foreign news outlets if ya don’t know what they’re askin’?”
“That’s what subtitles are for,” a student shot back, earning a few chuckles.
You sighed, shaking your head. “Look, I get it. English can be frustrating. But it’s not impossible. And since I actually spent time in America, I know the best ways to help you guys get comfortable with it.”
One student perked up. “You were in America?”
You nodded. “Yeah. A few months, actually. Lived there, worked there, and had to use English every single day. Trust me, I made all the mistakes you could possibly make, so I know exactly what you’re struggling with.”
“Wait… So you were, like, an American hero?”
“Not exactly,” you admitted. “More like I was there for a temporary collaboration. But I did patrols, worked with some American heroes, and had to communicate with civilians. So if you want to hear some embarrassing stories about me messing up English in public, now’s your chance.”
That seemed to spark some interest.
“Did you ever say something really bad by accident?”
“Oh, definitely.” You smirked, crossing your arms. “I once tried to compliment someone’s shirt and accidentally told them they looked like a banana.”
A few students laughed. Even Hizashi chuckled beside you.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Language isn’t just about books and testsit’s about communication! And sometimes, communication is messy, but that’s how ya learn!”
The class groaned again, but at least this time, it was with less resistance.
You smirked. “Alright, let’s start simple. Let’s go around and have everyone introduce themselves in English. Just a basic ‘Hi, my name is ____, and my quirk is ____.’”
The students groaned again, but one by one, they hesitantly began their introductions, stumbling over words and laughing at their own mistakes. You and Hizashi guided them through the pronunciations, offering encouragement where needed.
Midway through the lesson, as you walked between desks helping students with their pronunciation, a sleepy voice mumbled, “Mom, how do you say ‘speed boost’ in English?”
Silence.
You blinked, turning slowly toward the student who had spoken. The entire class went dead quiet as the realization hit them. The student, wide eyed with horror, turned an impossible shade of red.
“I I mean uh” They clamped their hands over their mouth, mortified.
The room erupted into laughter. Even Hizashi doubled over, his laughter echoing through the classroom. You couldn’t help but smirk, arms crossed as you arched an eyebrow.
“Well,” you said, grinning, “at least you said it in English.”
·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡
The final bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students packed up their things, still chuckling over the earlier slip up. The poor student who had accidentally called you “mom” had bolted out of the room the second they could, face burning red. You were still amused by it, though.
“Alright, see ya next class!” Hizashi called after the last few students, waving as they shuffled out the door.
Once the room was empty, you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “Whew. That went better than expected.”
“Oh yeah?” Hizashi drawled, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You sure about that, Mommy?”
You froze. Then you turned to him slowly, narrowing your eyes. “…What did you just say?”
He grinned, far too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just embracing my student’s interpretation of our dynamic! I mean, you are helpin’ me teach, you keep ‘em in check feels pretty parental to me!” He stroked his chin dramatically. “Maybe I should start callin’ ya that more often”
You smacked his arm firm, but playful.
“OW!” He laughed, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “What?! It’s a term of endearment!”
You shook your head, grinning. “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?”
“I know I’m funny.”
You crossed your arms, smirking. “Well… I could be a mommy.”
Silence.
Hizashi just stood there.
His expression froze completely like his brain had just cut out. He wasn’t even blinking, just staring at you with his mouth slightly open.
You bit back a laugh at the way his mind was clearly racing at a million miles per hour.
And then, just to mess with him even more, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away and sauntering toward the door. “See you later, Daddy.”
You barely made it out of the room before he exploded.
“WH WAIT! HEY! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
You laughed as he stumbled after you, his voice rising in sheer panic and excitement.
“Babe, hold on WAIT A MINUTE” He caught up, following you into the hallway. “Are you just messin’ with me, or ? ‘Cause, like, if you’re serious”
You threw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “What? You want to make me a mom right now?”
His face went completely red, but his determination didn’t waver. “I MEAN IF YOU’RE DOWN I’M JUST SAYIN’”
You only laughed harder, enjoying how flustered he was. you had no doubt this is going to be a topic of discussion when you get home today.
⋆˚✿˖° ❝it feels crowded❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
────୨ৎ────
Gojo Satoru x Reader
Geto Suguru x Reader
────୨ৎ────
4. How it feels to be a girl and do no wrong
masterlist
update! i’m back from vacation but i offer you this with what little time I have.
…
Your dorm was warm and cozy, lit softly by the glow of a few fairy lights strung along the walls. The scent of popcorn and sugary snacks filled the air, and laughter spilled freely between you, Shoko, and Utahime as the three of you lounged around the room.
It had been a few days since your night out at the arcade and ramen shop, but the memory still lingered in your mind specifically, the way Geto had acted, the way Gojo had been off. And based on the way Shoko kept smirking at you, you had a strong suspicion she knew exactly what you’d been overthinking.
“Alright, but hear me out,” Utahime said, sitting cross legged on the floor as she carefully painted your nails. “What if, just once, in a horror movie, the characters actually had some common sense?”
You snorted, blowing on the nails she had already finished. “Then the movie would be ten minutes long.”
“Exactly,” Shoko chimed in, sprawled lazily across your bed, a cigarette tucked between her fingers. “The second a single door creaks on its own? I’m out. No investigation. No ‘who’s there?’ Just immediate evacuation.”
Utahime grinned. “See, that’s why we’d all survive.”
You hummed. “Not if one of us trips.”
Shoko flicked her lighter absently. “You’d trip.”
You gasped, “I’m super adept.”
Utahime giggled. “You did trip at the arcade that one day.”
“That was once!” you protested, then immediately regretted it when Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look.
“Oh yeah,” Shoko drawled, her smirk widening. “Speaking of the arcade…”
Utahime sighed, putting the nail polish down and leaning back on her hands. “We’ve been nice and patient, but now you have to tell us.” You blinked. “Tell you what?”
Utahime gave you a deadpan look. “Don’t play dumb.” Shoko grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. “How’s it feel to have both Gojo and Geto all over you?”
Your face immediately heated up. “They were not—” “Please,” Shoko cut you off. “Geto was practically glued to your side, and Gojo looked like he wanted to launch him into orbit.”
Utahime hummed. “He was acting weird, wasn’t he?” You frowned, thinking back to Gojo’s quiet mood after dinner, the way he had trailed a step behind when you and Geto had walked back together.
“He’s been weird ever since,” Shoko mused, tapping ash into an empty cup. “More annoying than usual.”
“He’s probably just being dramatic,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way something in your stomach twisted.
Utahime gave you a patient look. “And Geto?”
You hesitated. Geto had been different too. More intentional with his words, with his actions. The memory of him draping his jacket over your shoulders flashed in your mind, unbidden.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s just… Geto’s always smooth. But lately, it’s like he’s actually trying.” Utahime nodded thoughtfully, while Shoko smirked. “And you like it.” “I didn’t say that!”
Utahime raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t hate it.” You groaned, flopping backward onto the bed, covering your face with a pillow. “Why are we even talking about this?”
Shoko chuckled, tossing a piece of popcorn at you. “Because it’s fun watching you squirm.” You lifted the pillow just enough to glare at her. “I hate you.” She grinned. “No, you don’t.”
Utahime leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, either way, something’s happening.”
You let out a long sigh. “Nothing is happening.” “Yet,” Shoko corrected, looking far too pleased with herself.
You groaned again, dragging the pillow back over your face. This sleepover was supposed to be relaxing. Instead, you were going to lose your mind. Utahime stretched, letting out a content sigh as she leaned back against the bed. “Well, whatever’s going on, you’re gonna have to deal with it eventually.”
You groaned, still partially buried under your pillow. “Or I could just ignore it forever.”
Shoko snorted. “Yeah, because that always works.” Utahime shook her head, about to say something else when she suddenly froze. Her eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she peered toward the chair in the corner of your room.
“Wait a second.”
You sat up a little, frowning. “What?”
Utahime’s gaze flicked back to you, her expression sharpening with curiosity. “That jacket.” Your stomach immediately dropped. You followed her line of sight straight to the familiar black jacket draped over the back of your chair. Geto’s jacket. The same one he had casually thrown over your shoulders a few nights ago. The one you had fully intended to return but had somehow… forgotten about.
Utahime slowly turned back to you, her smirk growing with every passing second. “Is that Geto’s?” Shoko, who had previously been lounging, suddenly perked up. She squinted at the jacket, then at your increasingly guilty expression. Then, in perfect sync with Utahime, she let out a dramatic gasp.
“Oh my god.”
“No,” you said immediately, face heating up. “It’s not—”
“It so is,” Utahime cut in, sitting up straighter. “Why is it still here?”
“I—” You floundered for an explanation, your brain working overtime. “I just… forgot to give it back.”
Shoko smirked while laughing. “You forgot?”
“Yes!”
Utahime grinned, standing up to grab the jacket off the chair. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting it like it held the secrets of the universe. “I bet it even smells like him.”
“Utahime!” you yelped, reaching to snatch it from her. She easily dodged, waving it out of reach. “Oh, this is rich.”
Shoko propped her chin in her hand, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “So. You’ve just been keeping it? Sleeping next to it? Maybe wearing it when you miss him?” You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I hate both of you.”
“Please,” Utahime said, shaking the jacket for emphasis. “This is gold.”
Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You should return it, y’know. Maybe personally.”
You squinted at her. “You just want to watch me suffer.”
“Absolutely,” she confirmed, smirking.
Utahime threw the jacket over your head with a dramatic flourish. “Well, either way, you should probably return it before people start asking questions.” You peeked out from under the fabric, pouting. “You two are the worst.” Shoko shrugged. “And yet, with all this going on I might have to steal you for myself.”
Utahime grinned, flopping back onto the bed. “Now, be honest how many times have you worn it?”
You launched a pillow at her face. Unfortunately, that only made them laugh harder.
—
“This is nice,” Utahime murmured, admiring her work. “Quiet. Relaxing. No responsibilities.”
Shoko let out a content sigh, stretching her legs over the arm of the couch. “No early missions, no annoying teachers, no one yelling. Just peace.”
You hummed in agreement, flipping lazily through a magazine, barely paying attention to the pages. “We should do this more often.”
Utahime nodded. “Definitely. We always talk about it, but we never actually set time aside.”
“That’s because every time we plan, something interrupts it.” Shoko cracked one eye open, smirking. “Remember the last time? We barely made it through a movie before—”
“No,” you cut in quickly. “We are not bringing up last time.”
“That’s fair.” Shoko yawned, stretching her arms over her head before slumping back down. “So, what’s the plan? Are we just hanging out, or are we doing something fun?”
You glanced around at the mess of snacks and nail polish. “I thought this was the fun part.”
Shoko waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. I mean, like, real fun. Something chaotic. Utahime, you’re too responsible when’s the last time you did something reckless?”
Utahime narrowed her eyes. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of” She paused, then sighed. “You know what? It’s been a while.” Shoko grinned. “See? I knew it. Let’s do something.”
Utahime raised a brow. “Like what?”
Shoko turned to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You got any ideas?” You glanced between them, already sensing that something was about to spiral out of control. “…I might have one.”
“i don’t like that look you’re giving” utahime lets out quietly
Shoko smirked, sitting up properly now, clearly entertained. “No, no, let’s hear them out. If they’ve got that look, it means this is gonna be good.” You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Well, we could sneak into Gojo’s room and mess with his stuff.”
Utahime sighed, already rubbing her temples. “Why is your first instinct always to start problems?”
“Because it’s fun?” Shoko answered for you, already getting excited. “What are you thinking? Classic prank? Rearranging his furniture? Stealing something important?”
“Oh, stealing is good,” you mused. “Imagine if we took his sunglasses. He’d lose his mind.”
“He would,” Shoko agreed. “What about his hair gel? You know he goes through, like, a bottle a week.”
Utahime groaned. “I’m not getting involved in this.”
“Oh, come on,” you nudged her. “It’s harmless. He deserves it after all the times he’s annoyed you.”
Utahime hesitated, glancing away. “…He has been worse than usual lately.”
Shoko grinned, sensing the shift. “See? Exactly. Think of it as justice.”
Utahime huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming both of you.”
Shoko threw an arm around her shoulders. “That’s the spirit!”
The plan was simple: sneak in, steal something mildly important, and leave before Gojo even noticed. But in true you, Shoko, and Utahime fashion things did not go as planned
The plan was simple: sneak into Gojo’s room, take something mildly important, and leave before he even noticed. Given how messy he usually was, you figured it’d be easy just rummage through the and swipe something small. But the second you pushed open the door, all three of you froze.
“…What the hell?” Utahime muttered.
Shoko blinked. “Did we walk into the wrong room?”
Gojo’s dorm was… immaculate. No scattered clothes. No empty snack wrappers. His bed was made, his desk was organized, and even his infinity scarves were neatly folded on a shelf. The air smelled faintly of fabric softener, like he had just done laundry. You turned to your friends, wide eyed. “Did he hire someone to clean?”
Utahime shook her head, suspicious. “This has to be a trap.”
Shoko whistled, walking inside. “Or he finally got sick of living like a raccoon.” Stepping further in, you carefully looked around. It was unsettling this was not the Gojo you knew. No mess , no clutter, no sense of a human disaster living here.
“…I feel like we should leave something messy just to restore balance,” you murmured.
Utahime crossed her arms. “Focus. We need to find something valuable before he comes back.”
Shoko flopped onto his bed dramatically. “What even counts as valuable to Gojo?” As if on cue, Utahime spotted something small and very out of place on his desk a tiny, pink, bunny shaped scrunchie.
She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “What is this?”
Shoko sat up. “Since when does Gojo own a scrunchie?”
“I don’t know, but it does not fit his whole thing,” Utahime said, looking scandalized. You smirked. “Which means it’s sentimental. Perfect.”
Shoko grinned. “Stealing it is the only logical course of action.”
Before you could celebrate your victory, disaster struck. Footsteps. Approaching. From right outside the door.
“Shit” you hissed.
“Hide!” Utahime whisper yelled.
All three of you scrambled like cockroaches when a light turns on. Shoko dived under the bed, Utahime pressed herself inside the closet, and you flattened against the wall near the door. The knob turned. Gojo stepped in, stretching. He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he scanned the room.
“…Weird,” he muttered. He took a slow step inside, glancing around. Your breath caught. His gaze narrowed slightly. “mmm something is off?” You stayed completely still. Shoko, from under the bed, barely stifled a laugh. Gojo exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.” He turned, reaching for his blindfold on the desk, then froze.
His fingers hovered over the empty spot where the pink scrunchie had been. Slowly, his head turned. “…Where is it?” Your stomach dropped. Gojo knew.
His entire posture shifted casual suspicion replaced by immediate certainty. His eyes flickered as he scanned the room, brows furrowing. Utahime was dead silent in the closet. Shoko wasn’t even breathing under the bed. Gojo’s gaze lingered on the doorway. Then, he smirked.
“I knew I felt something off.” Crap. Time to run. The second without thinking, you bolted. Gojo moved fast too fast but you had a head start, and you weren’t about to go down without a fight. You dodged past him, sprinting out the door and down the hallway, gripping the stolen scrunchie in your fist like it was some kind of prized treasure.
“Hey!” Gojo’s voice rang out, way too delighted for someone who had just been robbed. “Get back here, thief!”
You didn’t look back. Behind you, you could hear Utahime and Shoko dying of laughter, but they had chosen self preservation over loyalty, leaving you to fend for yourself. You turned a sharp corner, barely avoiding crashing into a stack of textbooks outside Yaga’s office, and kept running, your breath coming in short gasps.
But Gojo wasn’t even trying. That was the worst part he wasn’t sprinting after you, wasn’t calling on his infinity to stop you in your tracks. He was just strolling down the hall like he had all the time in the world, like he was playing some slow, inevitable game of cat and mouse.
“You know I can catch you whenever I want, right?” You didn’t dignify that with an answer. Your plan? Unclear. Your only goal? Survive. But the second you made it to the stairwell, you felt it, A shift in the air. An invisible force coiling around you like a net.
Oh, shit.
Before you could take another step, your body stopped moving. You weren’t frozen, exactly just stuck, like something was gently pressing you in place. Gojo’s infinity. A heartbeat later, he was behind you, leaning down to speak right next to your ear.
“You really thought you could get away?”
His voice was smug. Too smug. You turned your head slightly, glaring. “That’s unfair.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” he shot back easily. Then, after a pause, “Wait, which one is this?”
You groaned. “Just take your stupid scrunchie back.” But instead of snatching it away, he just rested his chin on your shoulder, peering at the pink fabric in your hand. “You really wanted this that badly?”
You felt your face heat. “It was part of a game!”
“Oh? And what exactly was the game?”
You refused to answer. Gojo chuckled, finally releasing his technique so you could move again. But before you could shove the scrunchie back at him, he reached up, plucking it from your fingers with a satisfied hum.
Then, to your shock, he casually stretched it over his wrist.
You stared. “You’re actually wearing it?”
“Why not?” He grinned, holding up his hand like he was showing off some expensive bracelet. “Looks cute, right?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then groaned. “You are so annoying.”
He just beamed, rocking back on his heels. “Admit it you’re impressed I caught you.”
You scowled. “I let you catch me.”
Gojo barked out a laugh. “Oh, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
You turned on your heel, storming off, because if you stayed any longer, he’d probably say something even more ridiculous
.
But just as you reached the door, you heard his voice again, softer this time.
“See you later, thief.”
And then he walked away, leaving you standing there, flustered, as the warmth in your chest refused to go away.
—-
The memory was old, so old that Gojo sometimes wondered if it was real or just something his brain made up over time. But no, he knew it had happened. He could still hear the sound of your voice, tiny and full of determination, and he could still remember how warm the summer air had felt against his skin that day.
It was before Geto, before Shoko before either of you had anyone else. Just two kids, running around the vast Satoru estate, where everything was too big and too quiet and too lonely.
Gojo had been sulking. He didn’t even remember why. Maybe one of the servants had scolded him for sneaking sweets before dinner. Maybe his father had said something about being stronger or better or more than what he already was. Or maybe he was just having one of those days where being Gojo Satoru felt way too heavy for a little kid to carry.
Whatever the reason, he had plopped down onto the wooden engawa outside his house, legs dangling over the edge, arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses too big for his face back then had slid slightly down his nose, but he was too grumpy to push them back up. like always, you appeared.
Marching straight up to him with something clutched tightly in your tiny fist, you stopped in front of him and huffed. “Satoru.”
Gojo barely glanced at you. “What?”
“Hold out your hand.”
He squinted at you, suspicious. “Why?”
“Just do it!”
He let out the world’s most dramatic sigh, but finally, he held out his palm. Immediately, you shoved something soft and fabric-y into it. Gojo blinked, looking down. A scrunchie. Pink. With little bunny ears on it.
He stared. Then stared harder. “…What?”
You crossed your arms, standing tall well, as tall as a little kid could stand. “It’s for you.”
Gojo wrinkled his nose. “A scrunchie?”
“Yeah.” Without waiting for an invitation, you flopped down next to him, swinging your legs over the edge of the engawa. “My mom said I have too many, so I decided to give this one away.”
Gojo frowned. “Why to me?”
You gave him a look, like the answer was so obvious. “Because you always complain about your hair.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. “…No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
Then, to Gojo’s absolute horror, you scrunched up your face and mimicked him in a high pitched, exaggerated voice:
“Ugh, my hair’s in my face! Ugh, it’s so annoying!”
Gojo gasped. “I DO NOT sound like that.” “You totally do.”
He scowled, clutching the scrunchie like it had personally offended him. “Well still! It’s pink!” You shrugged. “So?” “And it’s got bunny ears!” “So?” Gojo was flabbergasted. “It’s it’s cute!”
You blinked at him, unimpressed. “Satoru. You have white hair and wear sunglasses indoors. I don’t think a pink scrunchie is your biggest problem.”
Gojo gawked at you. “huh!”
You just grinned, all mischief and sunshine. “Besides, it’s practical.” You swung your feet again, bumping his knee. “You always get annoyed when your hair’s in your eyes, right? Just use it when no one’s looking.”
Gojo glanced down at the scrunchie again.
It was practical… and soft… and warm from your hands… and something about the fact that you gave it to him made his face feel kinda hot. He grumbled under his breath, stuffing it deep into his pocket like he was hiding evidence. “…Fine. But if anyone asks, I stole it from you.”
You laughed, bright and clear. “Sure, Satoru. Whatever makes you feel better.”
—
Gojo sat on his bed, rolling the same pink scrunchie between his fingers. The bunny ears were slightly bent, the fabric worn from time, but it was still intact.just like the memory.
He sighed, rubbing a thumb over the soft fabric. You didn’t even remember giving this to him.
Figures. He closed his fist around it, holding it close. It was his, after all.
Gojo sat cross legged in the middle of the wide, empty field behind the estate. The sun was beginning to dip, stretching his shadow out long and thin on the grass. Summer air clung to him, sticky and warm, and the cicadas’ endless chorus buzzed in his ears. He stared at the ground, fingers absently picking at the grass, his mind heavy with everything and nothing at once.
His dad’s voice still echoed in his ears, sharp, cutting, never satisfied. The words blurred together in his head, a tangled mess of expectations he didn’t ask for.
Footsteps crunched softly behind him, but he didn’t bother to look up. No one else came out here except for you.
“Hey,” you greeted, voice cautious but casual. “Why’d you run off like that?”
Gojo grunted, still plucking at the grass. “Dunno.”
You plopped down beside him without hesitation, legs folded neatly under you. There was a beat of silence as you looked at him, waiting for him to say more, but when he didn’t, you spoke up again.
“You ran off right after your dad yelled at you,” you pointed out, like it was obvious.
Gojo’s fingers stilled. He ripped a piece of grass and tossed it away. “So what?”
“So, it clearly bothered you.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
You huffed, exasperated but amused. “Liar. I know when something’s bothering you.”
Gojo finally looked at you, a half hearted glare behind those too big sunglasses. “You think you know everything.”
You grinned, unphased. “Yeah, ‘cause I do. I’m a gojo expert.”
Gojo’s lips twitched almost a smile. Almost. The two of you sat there, listening to the cicadas fill the silence. Gojo went back to tearing up the grass, and you leaned back on your hands, tilting your head to the sky.
“Y’know,” you began casually, “I don’t get why you always pretend you’re fine when you’re not.” Gojo’s jaw tightened. The sunglasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up, a barrier between you and the storm brewing in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” you countered softly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “You’re my friend.”
Friend. That word made his chest feel weird too tight and too light all at once. It was easier to be Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, than to be just Gojo Satoru, a kid whose family thought “the strongest” was all he ever had to be.
“I’m not supposed to need friends,” he muttered. “I’m supposed to be the strongest.”
You looked at him, tilting your head a little. “Yeah, but being the strongest doesn’t mean you have to be alone, dummy.”
Gojo’s fingers stopped picking at the grass. The weight of his father’s expectations pressed down on his shoulders be stronger, be better, be more but your voice cut through the noise, steady and certain.
“Besides,” you added, nudging his shoulder with your own, “I think even the strongest person needs someone. Maybe even especially the strongest person.”
Gojo’s throat felt tight. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you didn’t get it, that no one did but then he looked at you, and you were just sitting there, legs swinging a little, your gaze soft but stubborn. You didn’t pity him; you were just there, like always.
Your hand reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently. Gojo glanced down, staring at the way your fingers curled around his skin. It was grounding a touch that reminded him he was still here, still a person, not just some untouchable concept of strength.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, voice light but sincere. “Even if you keep acting like a grumpy old man.”
A laugh snorted out of him before he could stop it. “I don’t act like a grumpy old man.”
“Yes, you do,” you teased, a playful smirk curling your lips. “You sulk and mutter under your breath like you’re eighty.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re just annoying,” he shot back, but there was no bite in his voice.
You laughed, bright and clear, the sound blending with the cicadas. The sun had dipped a little lower now, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The world felt quieter, softer, and Gojo’s heart didn’t feel as heavy as before. The two of you sat there until the sun sank below the horizon and the air began to cool. When it was finally time to head back, you stood up first, offering your hand to help him up. Gojo looked at your outstretched hand, then at your face determined and patient.
He took it, your grip warm and steady.
“Come on, old man,” you teased, pulling him to his feet. “Dinner’s gonna get cold, and you know the staff’ll lecture you again.”
Gojo rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
But as the two of you walked back, your arms swinging between you,
——
The sun was setting over Jujutsu High, bleeding orange and gold across the sky. The air was warm and heavy, the end of another long day hanging lazily over the campus. Shoko leaned against the window frame of the common room, a cigarette balanced between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily upward.
Geto sat on the windowsill, his back against the frame and one leg drawn up while the other hung outside. His gaze was fixed on the training grounds below, where you and Gojo were supposed to be training though it looked more like Gojo was just finding new ways to annoy you.
“Do they ever actually take this seriously?” Shoko mused, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
Geto huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was a heaviness to it. “If they did, they wouldn’t be themselves.”
Down below, Gojo had his infinity up, that smirk plastered on his face. Every time you tried to hit him, he’d lean back just enough for your fist to miss. His sunglasses had slid down his nose, but he didn’t bother fixing them.
“C’mon, try harder!” he teased, voice bright and taunting. “I thought you said you were getting stronger!”
“Oh, I am,” you shot back, grinning even as your frustration grew. “You just need to stop being a coward and drop your technique!”
“Ha! As if!” Gojo laughed, effortlessly sidestepping your next swing. “You’d have to make me!”
Without warning, you lunged forward and grabbed the front of his uniform. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his cockiness just before you yanked him down. The two of you tumbled to the ground, a heap of limbs and laughter, dust clouding around you.
Gojo’s dramatic yelp echoed through the courtyard, followed by your triumphant, breathless laughter.
Shoko snorted softly, shaking her head. “Idiots.”
Geto watched the two of you tangled up on the ground, his smile faint but strained. There was a bittersweet weight to it, a quiet sort of resignation.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes still on Gojo’s bright, careless grin. “They are.”
Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes glancing sideways at Geto. The way he watched the two of you there was something there, a thread of something unspoken and conflicted.
“They’ve always been like that,” she said, testing the waters. “Even before we got mixed in.”
Geto’s gaze lingered on the two of you, Gojo’s arm now slung over your shoulders while you tried to shove him off, your mock protests drowned out by his laughter. There was a time when that laughter had been his, something that had belonged to just the two of them. Before everything had gotten so complicated. Before he began to see the cracks in the world that Gojo seemed so effortlessly above.
“Yeah,” Geto replied softly, voice tight. “They have.”
Shoko watched him carefully, the corner of her mouth curving into a smirk that was almost sympathetic. “Getting sentimental, Suguru?”
He scoffed, the sound sharper than usual. “No. Just thinking.”
“About?” He didn’t answer right away, his eyes still fixed on Gojo’s grin, the same one that used to be mirrored by his own. Used to be.
“Nothing,” he finally muttered, turning away from the window. “It’s nothing.”
Shoko watched him retreat, her gaze lingering on his back before drifting back to you and Gojo. Gojo had finally let you up, his head thrown back as he laughed, and you were swatting at him, a grin breaking through your faux irritation.
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the courtyard. Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes thoughtful. In the quiet space between laughter and cicadas, there was something heavy something that Geto couldn’t bring himself to name.
@pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000
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